


Tomorrow, Before Yesterday Begins

by DandyDonut



Series: A Wrinkle In Time [1]
Category: unOrdinary (Webcomic)
Genre: Blyke-centric, Canon-Typical Profanity, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study/Introspection, Expanded World Building, Gen, Gratuitous Amounts of Headcanon, Heavy Canon Divergence, Rei lives, Superhero Shenanigans, The Character Development We All Deserve, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyDonut/pseuds/DandyDonut
Summary: Blyke takes a deep breath, forces down the swell of panic, and makes a list of his priorities:1. Make sure Rei lives2. Stop the Joker fiasco from happening3. Try not to die(Or, getting flung back to the start of Third Year is absolutely terrifying, but it means Blyke can ensure history doesn’t repeat itself. Second chances are rare enough, and he’s not about to let this one go to waste. With unexpected friends and new threats at every corner, who knows what will await him?)[NOTE: This fic is not abandoned, the author is just on hiatus because of school exams at the moment.]
Relationships: Blyke & Everyone (unOrdinary), Blyke & Isen (unOrdinary), Blyke & John Doe (unOrdinary)
Series: A Wrinkle In Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931857
Comments: 295
Kudos: 240
Collections: Canon? We don't know her





	1. arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, full disclosure: I respect Uru as a writer, but I've always thought that it would be more conceptually interesting if the plot of UnO got to move beyond just the immediate setting of Wellston. We know so little about the worldbuilding of UnO, after all.
> 
> Anyways, special thanks to Chel for being the most Big Brained Fastpass/beta reader!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blyke: Okay, don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic  
> Pre-Joker John: *exists*  
> Blyke: *panics*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's Remi's birthday today: Happy Birthday Queen! 🎉

ar·ri·val

/əˈrīvəl/

the reaching or attainment of any object or condition; a coming

* * *

The second Blyke wakes up, he _knows_ that something is wrong.

He can’t exactly explain it, but even through the fog of sleepiness, something feels off. His eyes flutter open and he stares up at the ceiling for a few moments. The first thing that shakes the fuzziness from his mind is the shrill _beep beep beep_ of what is undoubtedly an alarm.

“Isen?” he asks through a yawn, pushing himself into a sitting position and blearily rubbing at his eyes. Isen had vehemently protested his alarm-setting habits when he’d first moved in (something about needing beauty sleep), so the beeping is annoying in more ways than one. “Since when did you have an alarm, you hypocrite?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, he looks up, and his heart freezes in his chest. He’s not in Isen’s room at all. The walls are stripped instead of plain gray, and the placement of the windows have changed. He’s on a bed instead of the floor, and damn if it isn’t the most comfortable he’s been in God knows how long. The floor isn’t _too_ bad - he just has to deal with a sore back in the mornings - but sleeping on an actual bed makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud, as cheesy as it sounds.

He buries his face in his hands and breathes in deeply. Then, he mutters a long string of profanities under his breath, because this is _his_ dorm room. The same room that he hasn’t set foot in since the Joker fiasco. 

If this is someone’s idea of a prank, he fucking hates it.

The alarm’s pitch increases until it’s screeching painfully. Blyke’s head begins to pound, and he pushes down the swell of panic long enough to locate where the noise is coming from: his phone. As he reaches for it, he catches sight of the boxes stacked around his bed. A quick glance inside the top box tells him it’s filled with unused binders and crisp, clean textbooks.

“It’s just a prank, Blyke,” he tells himself, aloud, as he taps at the clunky screen. “It’s just a really, really elaborate prank.” The way his fingers are shaking makes things difficult, and it takes him more tries than he’d like to admit to finally turn off the alarm. 

He untangles himself from his sheets, ears ringing, then gets out of bed. When he unlocks his phone to check the time, a cold feeling creeps up his throat. The wallpaper that greets him is him and his sisters instead of him, Remi and Isen. At the top of the screen, green characters display 7:00 AM.

A mantra of _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_ repeats over and over in his mind, because it’s been _months_ since the date had been in September. The first day of school, no less. His phone slips from his grasp and clatters onto the floor, but he’s too shocked to react.

_ Fuck. Shit.  _ “No way. There’s no fucking way this is real-”

  
Except it _is_ real. There are too many signs. As much as he’d like to ignore them all, he knows he needs to be rational. It certainly doesn’t _feel_ rational, sure, but he’s acquaintances, _maybe_ friends with Seraphina. If she can bend time to her will, it shouldn’t be impossible for something like this to happen. It makes more sense than the alternative, but the idea is so absurd that he doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

He swallows hard and concentrates as hard as he can, trying to remember what had happened the day before. To his alarm, he comes up completely empty. He can remember a full day - going to class, hanging up more Safe House posters, fighting off Zeke’s sorry ass - and normally, he’d call the memories ‘yesterday’. But this time, it doesn’t feel right.

It feels like he’s missing a day, maybe even _days_ . He can’t come up with a reason _why_ he feels this way, but it feels quite certain.

He takes another deep, shuddering breath, and scoops his phone off the floor. The thing’s old and bulky, but it’s about as sturdy as a brick - it came out unscathed after he’d dropped it three stories. Its screen tells him that his little moment of realization has lasted a little over five minutes, though it feels like it has been much longer. 

_Stay calm._ He has to be calm. He has to think this through, or else he _knows_ he’s going to do something rash and dig himself an even deeper hole. 

(It’s hard, though, trying to stay calm. His palms feel slick with sweat, and he can almost physically feel his heart hammer against his ribcage.)

Firstly, there’s orientation to attend. He’ll just figure everything out after, or something like that. He roots through the boxes until he pulls out a cup of instant ramen, then fills a kettle of water from the washroom’s tap. As it boils, he changes into his uniform and brushes his teeth. 

Blyke peels back the paper lid of the cup, pours in the boiled water, and sets a three-minute alarm. By the time it goes off, he’s more or less managed to convince himself to look on the bright side of things. The chance to redo everything, the chance to change everything for the better…

He can’t let an opportunity like this go to waste. 

He pulls out a pencil and a piece of lined paper and thinks for a quick moment. Without any difficulty or hesitation, he writes out his priorities in a neat list.

  1. Make sure Rei lives
  2. Stop the Joker fiasco from happening
  3. Try not to die



He’s normally a quick eater, but today, he purposefully stalls as he digs into his ramen. He chews slowly, rereading the list over and over again while his stomach twists with nerves. Obviously, there are other important things, like keeping his grades up for his scholarship, but he can do that without the knowledge of the… the future. (Goddamn, none of this feels real, like he’s in some sort of shitty scifi movie.)

When the cup is empty and he knows he’ll be late if he metaphorically digs his heels in for longer, he straightens his tie, and, with a deep breath, exits the room.

* * *

The trip to the Assembly Hall is surreal.

Blyke hadn’t thought that anything could beat the sheer weirdness of seeing his filled notebooks blank again, but seeing his living, breathing schoolmates is _so_ much weirder. Seraphina’s posture is ramrod straight, and her hair is tied back in a long, high ponytail. Remi and Arlo are arguing. (Or, well, Remi is arguing, complete with large hand gestures, while Arlo is half-smiling, half-smirking, and all amused.) Neither spare him a second glance. It’s incredibly jarring coming from Remi, and it takes a few moments for him to remember that they don’t become friends, not really, until their roles as Royals put them together.

Remi looks so animated and _happy_ , and Blyke realizes with a sinking feeling that he can’t recall the last time he’d seen her like this. This is what she had been like, before her brother’s death, before EMBER, before everything. _Fuck_ , what the hell is he doing? He tears his eyes away as his throat tightens. 

He needs to make sure none of that happens this time. Remi deserves to be happy more than anyone, and-

“Yo, Angry Bird, who pissed in your cereal?” 

Blyke startles hard. Even beyond the fact that there’s only one person who would ever call him _Angry Bird_ , the familiarity of the voice sends a wave of relief through him.

“Shut the fuck up, Isen,” he hisses, trying not to give himself away even as he’s struck by a deep gratitude for his best friend. It’s comforting, to know that he has this one constant. 

Isen slides forwards and bumps his shoulder against Blyke’s. “Oh, come on. Lighten up, man. You look even angrier than usual.”

Blyke can’t exactly say _I travelled through time and I’m trying not to freak out_ , so he simply shrugs a shoulder as he follows Isen down the hallway. He keeps his eyes mostly on the ground. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing everything at the same time.

The orientation presentation starts shortly after he and Isen enter the Assembly Hall. It’s standard and straightforward, bordering on generic. He’s heard the talk about academic responsibilities and upholding the school reputation dozens of times, but he pays attention anyways.

Isen has no such qualms. He makes sarcastic, whispered comments every time Headmaster pauses, like he normally does. Blyke glares at him for goofing off, like _he_ normally does. The familiarity of the routine is enough for him to momentarily forget about the Very Pressing Issue, if even for a few moments. 

When the Royals are called up to speak to the student body, Isen finally quiets down. The speech the three of them give is short and sweet, and once they’re done, Headmaster returns to dismiss them all.

“Press Club’s first meeting is today,” Isen says, as they squeeze past chatting students and through the door. “Wanna hang out after?”

Blyke shakes his head. “I still need to unpack.” That, and he needs time to, ahem, process certain things.

  
(He seriously can’t believe he’s actually… He doesn’t even want to think about it. DBZ’s storyline with time-travelling-future-Trunks has always been his favourite, but that doesn’t mean he wants to  _ live _ it out.  _ Shit, _ he can’t even begin to-)

“Just throw everything under your bed. It’s not that deep,” Isen snickers, even as he turns and begins to head off in the other direction. “See you tomorrow, nerd.”

Blyke can’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitch up, even as he rolls his eyes. He turns the corner and begins to go down the stairs. About halfway through the stairwell, he sees a student with silver hair cornering another student. He can’t tell who the second is because of the way the first is positioned, just that he’s wearing the male uniform and has dark hair.

When he hears the sound of a blow connecting, his eyes narrow. “What the fuck is going on here?”

The silver-haired student turns around. His posture is lax, disinterested. Still, it’s perfectly clear what he had been doing - picking on someone weaker than him. 

“And who are you?” the bully sneers.

Annoyance shoots through Blyke, and he’s about to answer _I’m the fucking Jack_ when he realizes he had forgotten, again. He doesn’t have that notoriety, not here.

(That, and, well, he hasn’t been the Jack in a while, anyhow.)

Having eyes on him constantly had been annoying and uncomfortable, but at least people listened to him...mostly.

“Scram,” he says, instead of answering the question. “Picking on others just because you happened to be born luckier is pathetic as fuck.”

“You think you can just tell me what to do?” The bully shakes the poor student he’s holding by the shirt for emphasis, and Blyke is honestly so sick of assholes who go around terrorizing others and abusing their power. 

“Yeah,” he responds, as he begins to charge up a small beam atop the tip of his index finger. It’s meant to be a warning shot, and when he catches the other student awkwardly getting to his feet in the corner of his peripheral vision, he winces. 

The situation reminds him too much of the warning shot he had fired at John’s head. It isn’t his proudest moment. His aim is good, but he hadn’t expected John to duck _into_ the direction of the beam instead of away. He can’t exactly blame him - it’s hard to tell what’s happening in the heat of the moment. 

But John had called Remi a _bitch_ and slapped her away for trying to help, and fuck, Blyke isn’t just going to let that go. He does admit that a punch would have worked fine, though. 

When he had tried to apologize, John literally slammed the door in his face. Needless to say, the entire event has left a sour taste in his mouth.

By now, the silver-haired student’s skin has turned a dark gray colour. Some kind of augmentation ability, perhaps? Blyke waits until he’s close enough to attack without the second student getting caught in the crossfire, then uses his ability to create a pulse of energy.

It’s sloppy, far sloppier than he expects, with the way its trajectory is all wonky. It’s much weaker than usual as well, like how it had been before he had practiced for hours and gotten the hang of it. It does the job, though, and knocks the bully flat on his ass.

Blyke scowls down at his palm, unpleasantly surprised. Losing months’ worth of training is a shit feeling, but as frustrating as it is, there isn’t anything he can do about it. Turning the full force of his glare onto the silver-haired student, he repeats, “I said _scram._ ”

His words are actually heeded this time, thankfully, so he shifts his attention onto the second student. 

“Are you oka-” he begins, before he manages to get a good look at who he’s talking to. This student doesn’t just remind him of John, he actually _is_ John. He hadn’t initially realized, because John looks completely different. Not only is his hair gelled and utterly unrecognizable, his entire _demeanour_ is unrecognizable. “Um, okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?” Blyke gestures to the nasty-looking bruise that’s blooming bright purple over the side of John’s face and tries not to sound as weirded out as he feels. A loop of _what the fuck is going on_ repeats in his mind; back before the whole Joker thing went down, he had been aware of John’s status as a cripple, but actually seeing it is _so_ fucking weird.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll go to the caf and ask for ice or something. Don’t want to bother Doc on the first day, considering I went to the infirmary literally every day last year.”

Blyke’s eyes go wide with alarm. “Every day?”

“Well, not on weekends, of course.” John scratches at the back of his head, looking almost embarrassed. It’s the strangest thing - getting brutalized like this shouldn’t be something one is _ashamed_ of. And so often, too. It sounds like an awful experience.

Blyke realizes too late that he actually feels empathy for John. He sternly reminds himself about what the fucker had done to Remi and Isen. _No fraternizing with the enemy!_

Still, he says, “This isn’t right at all.” This version of John hasn’t done anything of the sort, and it’s unfair to punish him for what his future self does.

Blyke had expected John to say something along the lines of ‘glad you’ve finally pulled your head out of your ass to see’ (which, fair), so when he merely stands there and looks shocked, it’s completely unexpected. 

There’s a strange look in his eyes, something that’s both surprised and happy, and Blyke suddenly feels awkward. How is he supposed to react to this?!

“Th-”

“It’s fine,” Blyke says quickly, then backtracks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off. But you don’t have to thank me. This is just basic human decency. It’s no biggie.” With a sinking feeling, he realizes that this is probably a big deal to John, but he refuses to open _that_ can of worms. 

He quickly spins on his heel and takes off before John has a chance to say anything else, calling, “See you around!” over his shoulder as he does so.

* * *

Blyke makes it back to his dorm room in record time. He drags a hand through his hair and groans as the sheer _weight_ of the situation hits him all over again. Fuck, he’s so in over his head.

This is bigger than just him, or even just Wellston. 

He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the pounding of his heart. He unlocks his phone and clicks on his contacts app, then scrolls through the rows of names and numbers until he finds who he’s looking for.

With a swipe of his thumb, the dial tone begins to ring. A couple moments pass, and right when he is about to hang up and chicken out, the other side picks up.

_“Hello?”_

“Um, hi, Rei.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "DBZ’s storyline with time-travelling-future-Trunks" is a reference to [Dragon Ball](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon_Ball). I find it super endearing how Blyke likes this anime _so_ much that [he bases his ability](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794769424749953084/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_7.28.54_PM.png) (arguably the most important thing in a person's life in the UnO 'verse) off of it. He's such a little nerd and I love him for it.


	2. prospect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huuuuuge shoutout to jarloshippa, wandering_soul_with_a_writing_goal, OrdinaryunOrdinary, jy16, emunu, and Book_Mage for leaving comments! I'm honestly floored with all the support I've received; I wasn't expecting a lot, if any! (Blyke isn't exactly a popular character, or at least not from what I've seen. ;w;) Your lovely comments really motivated and encouraged me to write more!

pros·pect

/ˈpräˌspekt/

the possibility or likelihood of some future event occurring

* * *

Blyke only knows about Rei in passing.

Remi’s elusive older brother had graduated before he had even enrolled in Wellston, after all. Arlo doesn’t speak of him often, but when he does, it’s clear how much he admires his predecessor even with their opposing viewpoints. 

Back in Blyke’s own timeline - which feels _so_ weird to say; he’s never going to get used to this, is he - he hasn’t ever spoken to Rei before. The only reason he even has the number is that during First Year, he’d been an immature little shit who thought that it’d be cool to have the previous King in his contacts. First Year Isen had already been scarily good at digging up information and was more than happy to comply. 

Blyke had been too guilty to actually test out the number, but too curious to delete it. And then, well, Rei had been murdered - something he _has_ to prevent this time. He’s planning to do something about the whole Joker thing, but compared to EMBER, compared to actual _death_ , it’s just teenage drama.

Regardless of what he does, though, he can’t do it alone. He’s watched enough anime to at least know that if he tries to tackle this on his own, chances are he’ll cause some sort of disastrous Butterfly Effect and fuck everything up even more. 

Of the people he trusts implicitly, Remi is most definitely out of the picture. There’s no way he can drag her into this; she deserves to be carefree and happy. Isen’s skillset, both as a fighter and a tracker, is incredibly useful, but he had been against the whole ‘investigate EMBER' thing from the start. It would be seriously unfair for Blyke to loop him in and endanger him.

There’s no way that Blyke is going to involve his family, either. He’s not about to risk their safety. And besides, his sisters are much too young, and his mom is already stressed enough without having to worry about his impulsive ass. There’s a reason why he hadn’t told her about his hospitalization, after all.

Rei is a bit of a special case. 

Both Arlo and Remi clearly hold him in high regard. He’s undoubtedly powerful in a way that almost demands respect. Experienced and responsible enough to run an entire school. Kind, too. 

Above all else, he has a right to know about his own death, at least. 

Still, if he doesn’t believe Blyke… Well, everything will pretty much be fucked, though he can’t exactly consider that now. It’s too late to back out.

_“Yes, this is Rei speaking. May I ask who’s calling?”_ The voice on the other side of the line is friendly and reminds him of Remi.

“I, um-” Blyke’s mouth goes dry. “-I’m a friend of Remi’s. I’m Blyke.”

_“Nice to meet you, Blyke.”_

“You too, but, ah, well, would you be able to, um, maybe meet up? Sorry, I know this is, like, _super_ short notice but I have something I really need to tell you in person. It’s urgent, I swear.” Then, a sudden thought hits him. He has no idea where Rei even is. “Shit, sorry, I’m in Wellston, so…”

_“You’re in luck, actually. I’ve been hanging around Wellston for the past few days with Remi, but I’m leaving tomorrow evening. We can arrange something tomorrow afternoon, if that works for you?”_

The tension bleeds out of Blyke’s shoulders as he sighs in relief. He hadn’t expected it to go so smoothly. “Yes, thank you, that would be awesome!”

_“Lovely.”_ Rei pauses, then continues, _“If I may ask, what’s this meeting about?”_

“It’s, um…” Blyke bites down on the inside of his cheek. He can’t exactly say _“You get murdered in a few months!”_ over the phone, but if he doesn’t give a good enough reason, Rei might end up thinking that this is some sort of joke. Alluding to the name Rei had gone by as a vigilante is the only idea that Blyke can think of. “Static! And X-rays.”

_“I see.”_ Rei’s voice suddenly becomes sombre. Good, good, it means he understands what Blyke is trying to say, at least. _“Does Remi know about this?”_

“No!” Blyke responds quickly. “This is all just me, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Rei seems to mull over this for a few moments, because his end of the line goes quiet. Then, he says, _“Does four-thirty, Wellston Park tomorrow afternoon work for you? The side trails offer a good amount of privacy if you walk deep enough.”_

“That works!”

_“Alright, see you tomorrow.”_

A click sounds and Blyke lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He lowers his phone from his ear and digs out a binder filled with loose-leaf paper and a couple of pencils and begins to write down everything he remembers. Every detail could be important. He can’t rely on memory alone.

* * *

Needless to say, Blyke doesn’t get much sleep that night. He doesn’t really mind it, though, because he’s more or less gotten used to it. By morning, he’s got a neat stack of colour-coded notes that’s an infodump of every single thing he can recall, right down to the minuscule, nitty-gritty details. He’s always been bad with dates, so unfortunately, the only things he has in that department are general periods of time. 

He thumbs through the pages one last time, then paperclips them together and stashes them under his bed. Having the memories written out like this is a risk for sure, but forgetting is far worse, so the pros outweigh the cons. 

He washes highlighter smudges off of his fingers, makes himself instant ramen for breakfast again, and grabs his backpack. On his way to the main campus, he unlocks his phone and checks his schedule - English first, then Chemistry and Economics. He sends Good Morning texts to his mom and both of his sisters, and is wholly surprised to see a message from Rei.

It’s a picture of a dog, captioned with ‘ _have a great day!’_ and several smiling emojis. Blyke is typing out a reply when something slams into him. His phone flies from his hands as he lurches forwards with a full-body flinch. 

“What the fuck!” he snaps, whirling around and flipping the bird at whoever pushed him. Predictably, it’s Isen. “Really? Two days in a row?”

“Dude, you’re _so_ jumpy,” Isen says, snickering as he scoops up Blyke’s fallen phone and hands it to him. “I’d probably not do this if you didn’t give me such a big reaction every time.”

Blyke scowls and hikes the straps of his backpack further up. By this point, they’re at the front doors of Wellston, but they circle over to the side doors.

“It’s quicker this way, I swear,” Isen’s saying as he leads the way up the side stairs. “I had the same English teacher last year.” 

“I don’t get what you’re so lazy for. Walking a few extra steps seriously doesn’t make that much of a difference.” 

Isen shoots him an affronted look over his shoulder. “Excuse _you_ , it’s efficiency.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blyke responds as they enter the English classroom. There are only a few students, including John, sprinkled in the spread out desks, so a majority of the seats are open. Isen heads towards the back of the room, probably to slack off like he normally does, while Blyke chooses one of the desks that’s in the middle-front of the room. 

It’s close enough that he will be in the direct line of vision of the teacher to maximize his chances to participate in class discussions (participation marks are important, damn it!), but far enough that it won’t be uncomfortably close.

As he shrugs off his backpack and places it on the floor, leaning it against the desk he’s claimed, he accidentally makes eye contact with John. It’s an incredibly awkward moment, and it’s clear that John hadn’t meant for it to happen either. 

Blyke hasn’t thought all that much about John besides last-night-slash-this-morning, when he had been trying to account for what had happened. He hasn’t allowed himself to, that is. He associates John with a sort of deeply frustrating mixture of anger and defeat and helplessness and something else, and he’s not a masochist, alright? He doesn’t _want_ to wallow in these feelings.

He knows he has to confront this issue eventually. Hell, it’s second on his list of priorities. But, ugh, he had wanted to procrastinate and not have to deal with John so soon.

He doesn’t really care about getting on John’s good side or whatever; he hates two-faced people, and besides, he’ll probably end up pissing the guy off no matter what. He’s lost count of how many times this asshole rudely turned down his offers of friendship back in his timeline. 

He had tried to befriend John not because he had some sort of ‘ulterior motive’ like the fucker had claimed, but because he genuinely wanted to make up. And, well, that had ended _fan-fucking-tastically_.

Still, once again, he can’t bring himself to initiate assholery with _this_ John. This John, with his air of unassuming placidness, this John, who doesn’t seem to even have Seraphina as a friend yet, this John, who gets sent to the infirmary on the _daily_ through no fault of his own.

“Good morning,” Blyke says to John. “Do you feel any better?”

John freezes, and for a moment, nothing but pure shock spreads across his face. Blyke winces internally. Fuck, how is he supposed to keep hating a guy who is bewildered by people asking for his well-being? 

“Yeah, uh, icing the bruise really helped,” John replies, grinning, once he seems to get over his moment of surprise. It’s so eerie, trying to reconcile _this_ John with the violent, hateful Joker he’s uncomfortably familiar with.

The teacher, a woman with pinned up pink hair and green eyes, walks to the front of the class and clears her throat. Blyke turns his attention forward as she hands a stack of printouts to Elaine, who is sitting at the very front of the class, and gestures for her to pass them around.

“Welcome to Third Year English.” Elaine takes the very top sheet and hands the stack to him. He does the same, taking one and passing the rest along to the student sitting behind him. “You’re receiving the course outline at the moment. Please take a moment to read it through.”

The teacher goes on to explain what to expect in the course before handing out textbooks and assigning a reading. Several students quietly complain about getting homework on the first day as they pack up their things to go. Blyke waves goodbye to Isen, then John, and leaves the room.

The feeling of weirdness doesn’t lift until he’s well into his second class, but even then, it lingers on the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rei is ~~my husband~~ one of my favourite characters, so obviously, he lives in this AU! #ReiDeservedBetter


	3. outlook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my lovely commentors: emunu, OrdinaryunOrdinary, jy16, Mo, and jarloshippa!

out·look

/ˈoutˌlo͝ok/

a person's point of view or general attitude to life

* * *

After the day of classes has ended, Blyke decides to take a nap before his meeting with Rei. He’s on his way back to the dorms when he spots a couple students circling around a single student with pink hair tied in two pigtails. Scattered papers surround them, and when the student in the middle tries to reach for one of them, someone slaps her hand away.

Not this shit _again_. For fuck’s sake, there’s something seriously wrong with this school.

He doesn’t recognize any of them, so none of them are high rankers. Or, well, that’s what he’s assuming, at least. The student in the middle is probably a Low-Tier, then.

Blyke takes a quick glance around. The hallway isn’t exactly crowded, but there are a few students roaming around - students who are doing absolutely nothing.

“What the fuck,” he mutters to himself, quickly picking up his pace. The fact that no one seems to care is almost as infuriating as the act itself. Before he can get to the students, though, _John_ of all people jumps in.

Caught off guard for a moment, Blyke freezes in his tracks when he sees John shove the student that appears to be the ringleader, a girl with a red-purple bob. She instantly retaliates, punching him hard enough to make him fly backwards and crash on the floor in a painful-looking sprawl.

“Hey!” Blyke begins to move again, closing the distance between him and the group. “What the hell are you doing?!” He feels the familiar pulse of energy underneath his skin as his ability activates itself, more of a knee-jerk reaction to his anger than anything else. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of _your_ business,” the girl jeers. 

With a glower, Blyke pushes through the group and puts himself between them and the two Low-Tiers (or, more accurately, ‘Low-Tiers’). “It _is_ my business when you’re harassing others in the middle of the hallway.” 

The ringleader looks like she’s about to say something, but before she can, one of the others interjects, “Illena, that’s _Blyke_ . He’s an Elite!” Huh, so he’s still _somewhat_ known, at least. 

“So what!” If anything, this seems to spur the ringleader on. “You wanna go?!”

“I’m not here to fight,” Blyke says, sighing and willing his ability to deactivate. “Just leave her alone, alright?” From past experience, he knows he’s more than capable of taking the entire group, should they join her.

The problem is, though, using violence here feels unnecessary. No, _more_ than unnecessary. It’s immature as hell, and while it’ll resolve the short-term problem, it’ll only breed more resentment in the long run. As soon as his back is turned, these Mid-Tiers will take it out on this poor Low-Tier. Blowing up the hallway will do no good, either - others might get caught in the crossfire. He wants to settle this as civilly as possible.

“You high rankers are all the same, always telling us what to do! I’m so sick of-”

The entirety of Blyke’s patience goes out the window.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Blyke can practically feel steam come out of his ears from how pissed he is. “Why the hell are you acting like I killed your dog or some shit? All I asked you to do was to not be an asshole to her-” he gestures to the Low-Tier behind him, “-and abuse your power!”

The girl opens her mouth, but Blyke carries on anyway. “Look, if there are any high rankers abusing _their_ power, you can come find me and I’ll take care of it. But come on, is it _that_ hard to have some fucking basic human decency? You know, treat others the way you want to be treated?”

A moment of silence follows. Blyke raises an eyebrow pointedly. “Well? Are you done wasting my time?”

“S-Sorry,” the blonde girl next to the ringleader says apologetically. Or fearfully. He can’t really tell. “We’ll get going.” 

He eyes the group as they leave, and when he’s sure that they’re not going to start any more shit, he crouches down and helps the Low-Tier girl pick up her scattered papers.

“Ah!” The girl looks up, surprise clear in the way her eyes go as wide as dinner plates. “Um, you don’t have to!” 

“I know, but I want to.” Blyke shuffles the sheets into a stack, then straightens them and hands them over. “Here.”

The Low-Tier scrambles to her feet, looking anxious. “Oh! I-um… I’m really sorry for wasting your time!” 

“Hey, none of that now,” he replies, frowning. “It’s not your fault that those people were being assholes.”

“That’s-I...well...!” The Low-Tier trips over her words, before finally managing “Th-thank you again!” and running down the hall, in the opposite direction that the group of Mid-Tiers had gone.

“Am I really _that_ scary?” Blyke mutters to himself, grimacing slightly. The reactions he’s gotten for helping Low-Tiers have been kind of strange. But he supposes they’re justified - the treatment they usually get is nothing short of horrible, after all. He turns to John and offers a hand to help him up. “You good?” 

John doesn’t take the offered help, but when he speaks again, his tone is pretty friendly. “I think it’s your, you know, glare.”

“My what?” 

“See, there it is again!” John gestures dramatically with both hands. “I always thought you wanted to kill me or something! Or kill everyone, actually.”

“I’ve been told that I have a resting bitch face…?”

“More like a resting angry face.”

“Oh?” Blyke reaches a hand up to pat his face. “Um, sorry.”

“What the heck, man?” John says, laughing. “You’re so much nicer than I expected.”

Without meaning to, Blyke blurts out, “ _You’re_ so much nicer than I expected, too.”

The confused expression John wears would have been comical in any other situation. “What? Me, the cripple?” Memories rise to the front of Blyke’s mind - John mercilessly beating his classmates, John treating Remi like absolute shit when she just wanted to talk, how rude John was time and time again, even before the Joker reveal - and a sudden rush of anger shoots through him. _Fucking bastard._ He takes a deep breath and wills himself to stay silent.

Luckily, John doesn’t seem to think much of it, because he shrugs. “Well, anyways, I’ll prove how nice I am. Boba, right now, my treat. How ‘bout that?”

“No thanks,” Blyke says curtly. He doesn’t really want to get close to John now - he isn’t exactly keen on repeating his past mistakes. And besides, he has plans, with Rei and otherwise, today already. “I’ve got a couple meetings after school.”

“Okay, I see.” John looks crestfallen, like a kicked puppy. “Next time, then?”

“Next time, sorry,” Blyke echoes, with a mixture of guilt and annoyance at himself. He doesn’t _want_ to feel bad for the fucker, damn it! He gives John an awkward wave, then speed-walks down the hall.

He’s got places to be.

* * *

Blyke finds himself at the front office. He doesn’t have an appointment, but hopefully, he will be able to weasel in a meeting.

He’s honestly kind of frustrated at himself for forgetting about the violence at the school _before_ the thing with Joker happened. He had been so bothered by EMBER and Joker that the violence hadn’t even come to mind when he was planning what to do. It isn’t as pressing of an issue as Rei’s death, but regardless, it’s a serious issue.

Before the Joker incident, he’d been so concerned with his Jack duties and keeping his grades up that he hadn’t even realized how _bad_ everything was. Fuck, it reads like a bad joke, or one of Isen’s clickbait (flipbait?) articles. _The Jack is completely uninformed about the issues he’s literally supposed to be in charge of! More on page 7!_

John’s unwillingness to take any responsibility or do _anything_ at all had been more than aggravating. It really showed how much of a hypocrite he was. Still, it’s not an excuse for Blyke’s incompetence. His best hadn’t been enough, and he wasn’t - _isn’t_ fit for the job. No matter what Arlo had said, he really doesn’t think he’s good enough. 

The door opens, pulling him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. 

“Good afternoon, Blyke.”

Blyke dips his head respectfully. “Good afternoon, Mr. Keene. Um, are you busy right now?” 

“Not at all.” The teacher gives a smile, and steps to the side, freeing up the hallway. “Why don’t you come in?”

Blyke steps into the office, and Keene closes the door behind him. “So, what’s going on?”

“I’d like to start a club,” Blyke says, nervous in spite of himself. It had been approved last time, so there shouldn’t be a problem now. Hopefully not. “It’ll be called Safe House, and it’ll just be a quiet place for people to spend their free blocks and lunches. There’s a lot of violence in the school, so I just want to create an environment where everyone, especially low rankers, can feel safe.” 

It doesn’t feel right to do this without Remi, especially since this had been her idea, after all, but it’s either this or nothing. Perhaps he can try talking to her, but he doesn’t want to come off too strong or force anything on her, especially considering she probably sees him as an acquaintance at best. It hurts like hell, but he has to deal with it.

Keene looks pensive. “That’s quite an interesting idea. Have you planned out how you’ll go about running it?”

“Well, I’m thinking that the room could just be open the entire school day, as well as before and after class for a bit. I can supervise during then.” Blyke frowns. “I’ll have to either close it or find someone else to take over for the blocks that I’m in class, though.”

“Your plan is very ambitious,” Keene says, nodding, “so I’m sure you’re aware of how much work you’ll have to put in. I highly suggest finding a couple partners to help out.”

“I have people in mind,” Blyke responds, which isn’t exactly a lie. Remi’s always a possibility - she’s kind and genuinely wants to help others - and she can most definitely rope Arlo in. But again, he doesn’t want to harass them into joining or anything like that. He’s not too sure how willing Isen would be, with his allergy to responsibility and all. The lazy motherfucker had only helped out with supervision in the first Safe House because the fake Jokers were too big an issue to ignore or something like that.

Keene pulls a notepad from one of the drawers of his desk and jots down a note. “Alright. The first week back is always pretty hectic, so if you check back with me next Monday, I can assign you one of the empty classrooms on the second floor.”

“Thank you,” Blyke says, relieved. 

“Of course.”

He’s about to leave, but a sudden thought hits him. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but...” he falters for a moment, then continues, “...the violence at Wellston _really_ messed up. The low rankers pretty much live in constant fear. Why haven’t the teachers, um, done anything?”

“The answer to that is...complicated.” The hesitance to Keene’s reply, and the way he averts his gaze as he speaks, isn’t lost on Blyke. “But just know that we’re in control of the situation, and trust that Vaughn knows what he’s doing.”

That answer is not at _all_ reassuring. Blyke bites down on the questions that threaten to crawl out of his throat, bows politely, and backs out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I (the author) disagree with Blyke here. I personally think he did all he could regarding the fake Jokers. Solving such a big social issue was outside of his power. When people bash him for not magically coming up with a solution, it’s honestly so frustrating. He’s just a teenager (most likely 16, maybe early 17 at most). Let him live. >->


	4. diverge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for 100 kudos! It really means the world to me. <3 Special shoutout to my commentors: D_chaos, jarloshippa, OrdinaryunOrdinary, Spring17, Expresso patronum, emunu, Dr Lovegood (Lenny18), and novaranthine!

di·verge

/dīˈvərj/

(of a road, route, or line) separate from another route, especially a main one, and go in a different direction; to move, lie, or extend in different directions from a common point; branch off; to turn aside or deviate, as from a path, practice, or plan

* * *

In the hall, Blyke checks the time on his phone and curses under his breath when he sees how late he’s running. The whole Safe House thing had taken more time than expected. But then again, it _was_ completely unplanned, to begin with, after all. 

He practically sprints back to his dorm, kicks off his dress shoes, and drops off his backpack. He swipes the package of notes labelled ‘Time Travel’ from under his bed, then slips on a pair of comfortable sneakers and runs out the door.

When he gets to Wellston Park, Rei - or who he’s assuming is Rei, judging by the emerald-coloured hair - is waiting for him. 

“Sorry,” Blyke says, breathless, “I got a little held up.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I’m just early.”

“Cool, cool.” Blyke clears his throat, shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Well, um, it’s nice to formally meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Rei says in turn, which can’t possibly be true and is most likely just courtesy. Blyke prides himself on being honest with himself, so he’s well aware of the fact that to Rei, he’s probably a super sketchy snot-nosed kid. 

Rei motions towards the trails with a tip of his head, and Blyke takes that as a signal to begin heading that way.

“So,” he begins casually, and it’s clear to Blyke that he’s just making small talk until they reach somewhere more private, “do you know of Arlo, Wellston’s King?”

Blyke nods. “It’s hard _not_ to know of him.”

“Is he doing alright?”

The question catches Blyke off guard. He hadn’t expected something so _personal_. He thinks for a moment, then says, “I would say so, yeah.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” Rei replies, like he hasn’t heard from Arlo in a long time.

“Do you want to talk to him? I have his number, if you want that.” Okay, well, technically, Blyke isn’t supposed to have Arlo’s number yet, but he knows it by memory - mostly because the fact that the last four digits all happen to be the number eight makes it easy to remember.

Rei looks pensive. “Actually, that’d be helpful.” He hands his phone over, and Blyke sees that it’s open to the contacts app. 

While he’s quickly keying in the string of numbers, he asks, “Are you two friends?”

“I like to think that we are,” Rei says, and Blyke nods. Despite his curiosity, asking Rei to elaborate feels much too personal, so he decides to switch to another (admittedly, also personal) topic. 

“How do you feel about the way he runs the school? With the hierarchy and all, I mean.”

Rei looks away, expression considering, as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. At last, he says, “I think...I think that Arlo has a lot to learn.”

“What do you mean?” Blyke asks, tilting his head to the side. Rei’s brow furrows, and for the briefest of moments, he looks strikingly like Remi. Something catches in Blyke’s throat, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come.

“I mean exactly that,” Rei replies, turning to face Blyke directly now. There’s a soft intensity in his eyes now that wasn’t quite present before. “Arlo values stability, and he’s been taught that enforcing a strict hierarchy maintains that stability. But he’s not at a point yet where he’s willing to accept that what he’s been taught isn’t the cure-all for the whole of society’s problems.”

“But the strict hierarchy _doesn’t_ solve the issue of stability,” Blyke argues, thinking back to the numerous times he’s stepped in to stop bullying despite school having barely begun. “Maybe on the outside things seem more organized and stable, but there’s so much Arlo and the rest of the Royals can’t control.” _I should know_ , he leaves out.

“You’re right. But I’m sure you know what happened when I tried changing up the system.” Rei smiles wryly.

Arlo’s retelling of the chaos left by Rei’s system flits through Blyke’s mind, and he nods. “I heard about how things actually ended up worse for the lower rankers. Regardless, shouldn’t there be a way to ensure equality _and_ stability?”

“Ideally, yes.” Rei pauses. “But it’s hard to actually go about doing that.”

“Even if it’s hard, it doesn’t mean that we should just give up!”

“What do you propose, then?”

Blyke’s mouth goes dry. “I...I’m not sure. I was kinda hoping that you have a solution, actually.”

“I don’t.” Rei sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you’re thinking this way, but you remind me a lot of how I used to be in high school.”

“I do?”

“It’s not a bad thing, not at all,” Rei quickly clarifies, “but you have to be careful, alright? I have a lot of regrets, because I really didn’t consider the long-term consequences of my actions, and like you said, I ended up making things worse for the very people I wanted to help.”

“Long-term consequences,” Blyke echoes, frowning. “I have to admit, I’m not great at considering those.”

“Neither am I, honestly, but at least you have a model of what _not_ to do.”

Blyke purses his lips, uneasy at the implications of that, but Rei’s next words pull him out of his thoughts.

“Alright, we’re deep enough. As long as you keep your voice down, we can have a private conversation.” Rei’s voice is quiet, but his eyes are anticipatory. “What did you call out for?”

“You die in Lovun,” Blyke blurts out. 

Rei blinks. Blinks again. He opens his mouth, then closes it. 

Blyke wrings his hands together and kicks himself mentally. He hates sugarcoating things, but fuck, he _really_ should’ve worded that more delicately. “Sorry, I, um, I’ll start from the beginning. I’m a...” _time traveller_ just sounds tacky, so he settles for “...I, um, went back in time.” (Honestly, it’s not much better.)

Rei is still silently staring at him like he’s grown a second head, which is, well, fair. 

“I have no idea how it happened, or why I’m here. This sounds crazy, I know, I just- Yesterday, um, I,” as he flounders for words, embarrassment and nervousness crawl up his throat, “I just woke up here? I dunno, it’s just supposed to be April right now, and somehow it’s _September_ again, and all the stuff that has already happened _hasn’t_ happened. Not yet.”

A long pause follows, and Blyke looks down, face hot. Actually saying everything aloud makes him realize how childish he sounds. Hell, if someone told him all this shit, _he_ wouldn’t believe it himself either.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me, obviously, but yeah.” He doesn’t really have a backup plan. “I don’t really have any proof to back me up or-”

“Hey, hey, relax. I’m not saying I _don’t_ trust you,” Rei finally says. “It’s just that in my line of work, we can’t afford to be uncritical.”

“Right. Ye-yeah, I totally get that.” Blyke’s stomach twists. It makes sense, obviously. He’d be concerned if Rei just took everything at face value, but being on the receiving end of suspicion is an _awful_ feeling. Fuck, what if Rei thinks he’s an EMBER spy? What if he isn’t a superhero yet and reports this to the Authorities? What if-

“Are we friends in… the future?”

“Huh?” He jolts and shakes himself out of it. “Well, the thing is, I don’t get to… You die before I ever meet you.”

Alarm shimmers brightly in Rei’s eyes. “Why tell me, then?”

“Remi deserves to be happy, and you deserve to live,” Blyke says, hoping he comes across as sincere as he really is.

Rei looks taken aback. Something about his demeanour shifts, and quietly, he asks, “After my… death, how was Remi?”

“Not good,” Blyke replies honestly. “She’s never the same. We go after EMBER together and she’s almost killed.”

Rei inhales sharply, going pale and looking profoundly horrified. “EMBER? Why would she… God, don’t tell me I…”

Blyke gives him a few moments to collect himself, especially after he seems to have connected the dots. 

“Continue, please,” Rei eventually says. 

Everything else is oddly anticlimactic. Blyke goes over a couple of the key events - the mall chase, Volcan, the findings from his own solo vigilantism - before handing over a couple of pages of notes. Rei’s expression is neutral throughout, though he visibly reacts to the mentions of Remi. 

“All the details I could remember are here,” Blyke explains, tapping his forefinger against the corner of the sheets. “The events themselves should be pretty accurate, but the times and dates might be off.”

“Alright.” Rei’s eyes flicker over highlighter and ink. “Do you mind if I show these to my associates?”

Blyke shakes his head. “Not at all. I hope this is helpful.”

“It’s _very_ helpful.” Rei’s severity melts away, and he offers a smile in its place. “Thanks for doing this. I’m grateful.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Are you safe?”

Blyke blinks, surprised at the sudden question. “Pretty safe, yeah. I’m staying out of the superhero stuff now, so I won’t risk getting onto EMBER’s radar like last time.”

“Still… Shatterstack normally patrols Wellston, so I’ll ask him to keep an eye on you.”

_Shatterstack, Shatterstack, Shatterstack._ Blyke wracks his brain, but comes up empty. He feels sick when he realizes that Shatterstack has probably died in his timeline, and that’s why he doesn’t recognize the name.

“It’s fine, really. He’s probably really busy already.” Blyke doesn’t want to be a burden, some kid that needs to be babysat.

“Seriously, he’s already patrolling the area anyways,” Rei points out. “It’s really not much of a difference.”

Blyke thinks for a while, then acquiesces. “Oh. Well, alright.” He doesn’t want to make a bigger deal out of this than it already is.

They talk a bit longer about mundane things like the weather, before Rei waves goodbye and leaves.

“Well, that could’ve gone better, but it also could’ve gone a lot worse,” Blyke mutters under his breath. Then, he heads back to Wellston, feeling a bit more hopeful for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, I attended Uru's [AMA](https://www.reddit.com/r/unOrdinary/comments/jl98od/im_uruchan_creator_of_unordinary_ama/ganrcnx/?context=3) and asked, "Hi, Miss Uru! We appreciate your work, but please take care of yourself! Your health comes first, so take as long a break as you need! :D
> 
> My questions for you:
> 
> What is Blyke’s passive?
> 
> How does William Doe feel about superheroes?
> 
> Is the invisible mall guy a relative of Terrence? (as opposed to being Terrence himself)
> 
> If Leilah is involved with Seraphina’s ability loss, was it intentional? (As in did she mean to target her sister specifically?) Additionally, is ZetaSci as a whole involved with that?
> 
> Can you confirm that Ponytail Guy is Kuyo?"
> 
> to which she replied, "Sorry, I can't answer these... but I'm glad you're thinking about them xD"
> 
> So, haha, more creative liberties for me! I'll mostly be writing future events (especially the EMBER plot) based off of my personal theories. Hopefully, I won't get contradicted in later UnO episodes.


	5. brink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated) Friday the 13th!

brink

/briNGk/

a point at which something, typically something unwelcome, is about to happen; the verge; an extreme edge of land before a steep or vertical slope

* * *

The rest of the week passes without much fanfare. In the morning before school on the next Monday, Blyke makes a trip to the front office and talks to Keene. The empty classroom assigned to the Safe House is 312 - located in the foreign language wing on the third floor - instead of 224, like it had been originally. He has no idea what this will mean, besides a slightly smaller club space, since the rooms on the third floor are typically less spacey.

He supposes it’s appropriate. Remi had made a pretty big deal out of the club, so to the teachers and students alike, it had been considered important. Now, that doesn’t really matter, so Blyke doesn’t think about it much.

He’s excused from the class before lunch early to check out the room itself. As soon as he unlocks the door, a flurry of dust blasts him in the face. He sneezes, and once his eyes stop watering, a quick inspection tells him that there’s a layer of maybe two inches of dust covering the entire room. 

It’s a far cry from the practically pristine room the original Safe House had received, and while it’s not  _ too _ much of a surprise (a club backed by the Royals and almost all of the other high ranking students is vastly different from… whatever he’s doing here), cleaning up will be a pain in the neck. 

He holds his breath, gathers two spheres of energy, and brings them together. The shockwave created by the collision whips his hair around, and when everything settles, the dust has more or less been cleanly blown away from the desktops. But still, there’s grime  _ everywhere _ . With a short but heavy sigh, he drops his backpack onto one of the desks with a  _ thunk _ and goes to the cafeteria to ask for some cleaning supplies. 

The hallways are starting to fill with students, but the fact that they aren’t jam-packed yet tells him that lunch break has probably just begun. He jogs down two flights of stairs and catches two students engaged in some sort of dispute. One of them - a girl with blue hair - has the other - a boy with red hair - in a headlock. The second student is thrashing wildly, and a passerby is nearly smacked in the face by one of his flailing limbs.

“You two!” he shouts. “Knock that shit off!”

Both students stop in their tracks at his words, looking very much like deer in headlights. The girl releases her companion, and he stumbles a few steps before he quickly rights himself.

Blyke strides towards them, until he’s directly in front, and chides, “You have to be mindful of the students around you, since this is a public space.” His own past actions come to mind, and he winces, unbidden. “People could get caught in the crossfire and get hurt. You’re allowed to do whatever you want on your own time, but you just have to make sure you choose the right battlefield.” 

“R-Right.”

The two are looking more terrified than chastised, like he’s going to bite their heads off or something, and he sighs, exasperated. “Guys, stop it. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy wrings his hands together. “You aren’t?” 

“Well, duh.”

“Oh.”

“Why are you two so nervous?”

“W-Well, high rankers usually get pretty mad when we get in their way, so they…” the girl trails off, miming the action of a punch.

Blyke frowns. The issue at hand is more getting in the way of the student populace and less getting in his way in particular. “And which high ranker is doing this?”

“Uh… Zeke,” she answers, though it sounds more like a question with the hesitance in her tone.

“Figures,” Blyke mutters. “That slimy Jesse wannabe is such a bastard.” At the blank gazes he gets in return for the reference, he adds, “You know, Jesse from Pokemon? Team Rocket?”

The two exchange a glance, and the boy dubiously asks, “Who?” 

“...nevermind. Point is, I’ll try to track him down and talk to him.” For someone with such an annoyingly wide network and reach, Zeke himself is strangely hard to find. “And if he’s pushing you two around again, come find me.”

“R-Really?” The redhead looks dazed. “This isn’t a prank or anything?”

“Does it look like I have time for practical jokes?” Blyke asks dryly, raising an eyebrow. The twin looks of apprehension he gets in response are rather comical, but he sighs slightly to himself. He should just let the two go before one of them starts crying or something. 

He turns and begins to head to his destination again, calling a quick “Alright, stay out of trouble” over his shoulder.

* * *

Blyke pushes open the door to the cafeteria, and instantly, he’s struck by how the atmosphere of the room is saturated with unease. The usual lively chatter is nowhere to be found, and the students present are either nervously shuffling to the exits or watching whatever’s happening in the middle of the room.

“My God, Seraphina is acting like a total psycho.” Blyke hears a passing girl mutter as she brushes past him on her way out.

“Yeah, what a crazy bitch,” the student next to her agrees. “All because that cripple outsmarted her.”

_ What the fuck? _

Alarm has him acting before he’s even fully processed the words. He quickly makes his way through the crowd. John’s at the centre of it all, because  _ of course _ he is, and, to his surprise, Seraphina’s got him by the collar of his shirt. 

She’s screaming something at John, something along the lines of  _ you’re so weak and ignorant, _ and Blyke is so wholly caught off guard for a second that he isn’t even sure what to do. He shakes himself out of it, stepping towards them until he’s an arm’s length away.

“That’s enough!” he snaps.

Seraphina doesn’t flinch. She merely goes stiff, posture tensing as she drops her hold on John in favour of turning around.

Her eyes are icy and unyielding as she regards Blyke, and when she narrows them, her gaze becomes distinctly sharper, sharp enough that he’s convinced he could cut himself on it if he stares too hard. “Excuse me?” she asks, voice almost pleasant were it not for the lethal edge lurking just beneath the surface.

Unease, coupled with a distinctly unpleasant sense of surprise, freezes Blyke in his place for a heartbeat, because he doesn’t recognize her. Not at all. The High-Tier in front of him is apathetic, and reminds him of...

...John. Not  _ this _ John, the one bruised and slumped against the wall, but the one back  _ there _ . The look of disdainful aloofness they share is nearly identical, the look that screams  _ you’re so far below me _ . And the lack of remorse for their abuse of power, because it  _ is _ an abuse of power, petty and self-serving and egoistic. 

Blyke takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and evenly replies, “Is beating someone who can’t even fucking fight back cathartic?” 

He’s talking to Seraphina, but the words aren't addressed to her, not really. He’s talking to the John who never pulls his punches, the John who mercilessly kicks his opponents after they’re already down without a second thought, the John who did a complete heel-face turn after his fallout with Seraphina, the  _ other _ Seraphina. (Nothing repulses Blyke more than a lack of loyalty.)

Seraphina is perfectly, unnervingly still for a moment, and then she stalks forward, well into his personal space, and doesn’t stop until they’re nearly touching. It takes every iota of Blyke’s willpower to dig his metaphorical heels deep into the ground against the intensity of her gaze, to tilt his head slightly upwards and meet her frigid fury head-on. 

_ Goddamn. _ She’s scary as  _ fuck. _ The way she uses the oppressive force of her ability to intimidate in conjunction with the discomfort caused by her physical proximity is seriously chilling. 

Once upon a time, Blyke would’ve actually given a shit.

Now, he realizes he can’t feel anything beyond the surface level agitation. There’s something about facing off against the likes of Volcan that puts life and death into another perspective entirely. There’s no murderous intent radiating off of Seraphina, just a  _ lot _ of anger, after all.

And now that she’s this close, Blyke can see, her mask has begun to crumble at the edges. It’s true that her eyes gleam with rage, but only under the unmistakable sheen of tears. Her brow crinkles over a scowl that’s looking less genuine by the second; her lip trembles with all the valiant but failing effort of a girl who’s been stretched to her brink.

Surprised for the umpteenth time that day, he clears his throat as his outrage is replaced by an awkward sympathy. The whispers begin to increase in volume, and he steps back, but only to level the students around them with a glower. “Gawking like this is some sort of sitcom? Newsflash, assholes, this is real life. If you aren’t going to help - you know, the thing any fucking decent human being would do - stop dicking around and gossipping.” 

Not a single student meets his gaze, and he exhales, irritated. 

“And you.” He turns back to Seraphina, trying to hold fast to his anger, because he knows that John deserves this much at least, no matter how much he wants to give into feeling bad for someone he considers a friend. “What the fuck are you doing? We high rankers can’t throw tantrums like overgrown toddlers whenever we want.”

“Shut _up_ ,” she hisses. Her voice is quavering.

“No,  _ you _ shut up,” Blyke retorts. “Listen, I’m not gonna wax some cheesy bullshit like ‘I know what you’re going through’ or whatever, ‘cause I don’t. But no matter what, you don’t have a free pass to act like a douchebag.”

She pulls back as if to strike him across the cheek, but  _ something _ stops her, and for a brief and tense moment she’s frozen that way. It’s only when the whispers begin to creep back up into the territory of murmurs that she allows her arm to drop. “You don’t… you don’t get to talk to me like that!” 

“Apologies for hurting your feelings, your highness,” Blyke says, sarcastic and unimpressed. “I’ll practice my curtsy for next time.”

Seraphina looks like she wants to slap him, to beat him senseless like she did John, but there’s something broken in her eyes that tells Blyke he’s (inexplicably,  _ impossibly _ ) won this battle. She steps away from him, the sheen spilling over into true tears on her cheeks, and then with a breeze and a swish of her ponytail, she’s gone.

_ Well. That just happened. _

John’s got a hand braced against the wall and is wincing as he attempts to stand. Blyke quickly gets to his side. “Can you walk?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” John says slowly.

Blyke drapes one of John’s arms across his shoulders and pulls him upright. When John finally gets to his feet, Blyke’s knees almost buckle from his dead weight. _Holy shit_ , this is harder than expected.

The students watch them carefully (sheesh, why are they  _ still _ here?), and it shows in the way they shrink back, creating something akin to a path through the crowd. Blyke half-guides, half-drags John out of the cafeteria. A couple of students in the hallway stare, but he glares daggers at them until they nervously look away.

“Dude, you have a freaking spine of steel,” John mutters to him after a few paces. “I thought she was gonna attack you too, back there.”

Blyke shrugs wordlessly in response. There’s something that’s tight and feels like disappointment in his heart, but it doesn’t matter. The Seraphina he remembers is easygoing despite her power - or lack thereof, after whatever had happened during her suspension - someone to admire and even aspire to be. 

That’s clearly not who she is here.

“It’s not like she was gonna kill me or something,” Blyke finally responds.

John looks at him incredulously. “You’re shitting me.”

“What?”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you literally-” John stops and closes his eyes, then shakes his head and blows out. “Well, anyways, thanks. Seriously.”

“You don’t have to, um, keep thanking me all the time. I’m not some sort of saint, and I’ve done a lot of shitty things in the past.”

John snorts. “Everyone’s done shitty things in the past.”

“Yeah, but I just-” Blyke’s sentence breaks off halfway, and he flounders, unsure of the point he’s trying to make. “I dunno, I had my head up my ass for a really long time.”

“Are you just helping me ‘cause you feel bad for those shitty things or what?”

“Of course not!” Blyke replies, affronted. “I’m not looking for anything, alright? Not a sense of moral fulfilment or anything. The treatment of Low-Tiers is legitimately fucked, and I’m not going to pretend like I’m some sort of saviour, or use your suffering to make myself feel better.”

And besides, John’s words of gratitude do nothing but make him feel uncomfortable, because he just can’t stop thinking about what  _ did _ happen, or, well, what  _ will _ happen. 

That is, unless he can prevent it.

“Oh,” John says, quiet. They fall into a sort of awkward silence, though Blyke is too preoccupied trying to haul John’s ass up the stairs to really care. He wishes Isen or Remi were here, because their abilities both boost their physical strength, and the fact that his own doesn’t do that is  _ really _ inconvenient sometimes. John isn’t even an absurdly tall person or anything, Blyke’s just… just weak.

Finally,  _ finally _ , they reach the infirmary, after two flights of stairs and way too much hallway. Doc yells a bit at John, and Blyke misses most of it because he’s doubled over and struggling to catch his breath.

Eventually, they settle down - John on one of the cots, Blyke on the chair next to him. 

“Sheesh, that was the most ridiculous experience I’ve ever had.” John picks at one of his new bandages. “I’ve never met a more entitled high ranker in my life! The way she tried telling you off for spitting facts, too, goddamn.”

Blyke thinks back to John and Seraphina’s friendship, the one he remembers. He knows he’ll never be able to forgive himself if he’s somehow responsible for ruining it - or preventing it from ever happening, in this case.

“That’s not...she’s…” He tries to find the right words to say. “As Queen and Wellston’s rank one, she’s probably under a lot of stress, so go easy on her.”

His attempt seems to have backfired, because John snaps, “Are you kidding me? She almost killed me over  _ cake _ ! Why should I go easy on a crazy Royal?”

Blyke flinches, a kneejerk reaction. “Sorry, you’re right. That kind of behaviour is never justifiable.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously, trying his best to calm down and not overreact, because this  _ isn’t _ the same John he’s used to. It’s okay, he’s okay. “But I’m just saying, she’s not normally like this.”

John scoffs and visibly rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure, but that’s not really the point. The  _ point _ is, she beat the shit out of me over a  _ piece of cake.  _ And besides, didn’t you  _ just _ chew her out in front of everyone?”

“Yeah, and I still stand by everything I said, but I think reducing her to nothing but a ‘crazy Royal’ isn’t helpful in the long run,” Blyke says, carefully and deliberately.

“But what if that Royal rampages? Loses control? Beats up everyone, and-” 

Blyke is saved from responding when the bell rings and cuts John off. 

He bids his goodbyes and quickly makes his way back to the third floor, picks up his backpack, and goes to Physics class. He finds it abnormally hard to concentrate - his mind keeps straying to what John had said. He’s talking about himself, Blyke is sure of it. What he’s  _ not _ sure of is how to respond. 

A week ago, he would have firmly disagreed with the notion that John had redeeming qualities. The fucker had been nothing but violently and unprovokedly cruel. But talking to him now, before the whole Joker thing, makes him realize that something’s not right.

John isn’t a bad person? He’s friendly, though he feels distant, as if he’s intentionally keeping others at an arm’s length. He stands up for others, and doesn’t ever fight back, even with the immense power he holds. Blyke knows he could instantly crush every single one of those bullies, but he  _ doesn’t _ . 

But why? None of this makes any sense. Why would his behaviour change so drastically? Blyke thinks back as far as he can, and comes up empty. His first impression of John was the asshole blowing up on Remi when she attempted to help, and everything had only gone downhill from there. 

The John he remembers is so different from the one here, and just thinking about it gives him a headache.

* * *

Blyke’s next class is English, and when he arrives in the classroom, Seraphina is already there, sitting in her usual spot. She completely ignores him, which honestly is probably for the best.

At the start of the block, the teacher begins to talk about the new term project. John arrives halfway through the explanation, shoots Seraphina a dirty look, and takes his seat.

Predictably, Isen’s his assigned partner. Perhaps the teachers do it by ability level, which is probably also why Seraphina and John are partnered up.

The rest of the period is a work block, and Isen leans forwards in his seat to lowly mutter, “What the hell, man? I heard about what happened in the caf.”  _ Ugh, great. _ The whole school probably knows by now.

“What about it?” Blyke pops open the rings of his binder to pull out lined paper.

“You’re so fucking-” Isen cuts himself off with a groan, slumping forwards and slamming his forehead on the desk. “Would it kill you to think before you act?!”

Blyke raises a brow. “I  _ do _ think before I act, Einstein. What happened back there was perfectly thought out.”

“What part of almost getting your ass handed to you on a silver platter by Wellston’s strongest student is ‘perfectly thought out’?” Isen subtly gestures to where Seraphina is sitting. “Heard from the grapevine that she’s an eight plus!”

An  _ eight plus? _ Blyke had assumed Seraphina was a God-Tier at least, from the way she easily took down Arlo, but  _ holy fucking shit _ . He can barely imagine what a seven looks like, much less an  _ eight _ . Well, before Joker’s rise to power back in his timeline, at least. He gets over his surprise long enough to repeat what he had said to John. “Alright, well, what’s she gonna do? Kill me?”

“Fucking hell, that’s morbid.” Isen has started to twirl the pen in his hand, something Blyke recognizes as a habit he falls into when he’s agitated. “Take a chill pill or something.”

“And besides,” Blyke says, completely ignoring Isen’s comments, “her level doesn’t give her the right to be an asshole.”

“It kind of does, actually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ugh, nevermind. Focus on the project,” Isen says, which is  _ the _ most piss-poor attempt at changing the subject Blyke’s ever seen, because he knows Isen literally could not give less of a shit about the project. Still, he lets it slide, and they don’t talk about it for the rest of the block.

* * *

_ It’s maybe late afternoon, judging by the way the courtyard is brightly lit. _

_ “Stop it!” Blyke can feel himself say, and John aloofly meets his gaze, and, without even a hint of remorse, draws his leg back and kicks the Safe House member away, and he’s not treating anyone around him like people but like objects, mere tools to use to further whatever fucked up goal he has, and Blyke knows John’s provoking him and he hates it, hates this feeling of powerlessness and frustration and worthlessness as he takes the bait and feels John slam his face into the pavement- _

Blyke’s eyes snap open. He barely makes it to the bathroom before the nausea hits him, and spends the next ten minutes dry heaving over the sink. It’s too much to handle, too much to handle all at once, because this isn’t simply a dream, it’s a  _memory_. 

When the fog in his mind clears, he shuffles out of the bathroom on shaky legs, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. He thinks briefly about calling Mum, because  _ shit _ , he just wants someone to tell him everything’s going to be okay. She’s probably awake already because of timezones and all, but he can’t burden her - she’s gonna worry about why he’s still awake and freaking out in the middle of the night. 

Well, staying up it is, since there’s no way he can possibly go back to bed after this. Might as well be productive. He eyes the  _ 1:03 AM _ on his digital clock, puts his anime OST playlist on shuffle, and chugs an energy drink.

When he finally doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall over and die on the spot, he puts on some sneakers and steps outside for fresh air. The cold wind nips at his arms, barred by his t-shirt, and he shivers. He jogs a few laps around the dorms, and when he’s sufficiently warmed up, he goes behind the old outdoors basketball court to practice his energy pulse.

He finds the old, half-cracked bricks that sit almost sadly in the shed, and sets them up in a stack for target practice. He finds that it comes far easier than it did the first time, probably since he actually knows how to shape his concentrated beam into a more forgiving wave-like blast of energy. Still, this is probably his least favourite part of this entire time fuckery thing - all his efforts have literally poofed out of existence, and he’s not strong enough, will  _ never _ be strong enough, if he keeps going at this rate.

Catching up to someone like John is frustratingly laughable because of the inherent differences in their abilities. No matter what he does, John will be able to amplify it. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, but it’s whatever. He needs to focus on prevention rather than reaction to the Joker issue.

But the burning desire comes back, because Blyke  _ never _ wants to see his friends hurt like that again, whether it’s by Joker’s or Volcan’s hand. 

His next pulse knocks the pyramid of bricks down, and he pushes his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, then scrambles to stack them again. Before long, his thoughts begin to stray again, as he thinks back to all the people John (Joker? Maybe he should separate the two?) has hurt. 

He has a responsibility to hold onto the grudge for them, because if he just excuses John’s behaviour, he’s basically saying that their pain isn’t important, that it’s just okay for them to be hurt. And it’s  _ not _ okay. The suffering John has been going through isn’t okay either, but that doesn’t give him the right to inflict suffering on others.

If he doesn’t hold the things John did against him, is he letting down Remi? Isen? Arlo? 

Except… Blyke is the only one who remembers and knows. John hasn’t done anything to anyone at Wellston yet, and Joker doesn’t even exist. Is blaming him for something he hasn’t done, but has the  _ potential _ to do, justifiable? 

Fuck, this is so complicated. But then again, all things that have to do with John seem to be complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not getting enough sleep is extremely unhealthy. Dear reader, I hope you’re taking care of yourself, unlike Blyke. ;;w;; Also, let's all send a prayer to Isen, who will spend most of this fic being Extremely Concerned about his impulsive best friend.


	6. friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honour of John's birthday, here's a nice, long chapter of his POV for y'all to enjoy!

friend

/frend/

a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection; a favoured companion

* * *

John’s day begins more or less as his days have begun for the past half-year. He wakes up, walks to school, and gets slapped around by a couple of Mid-Tiers. 

It’s fine. He can’t expect to always have someone come to his rescue, nor can he expect to be lucky enough to fight the assholes off. At this point, it’s just his life. He’s chosen to live this way, and there’s not much else he can do about it.

Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.

Today, the first class is Ethics; it’s a mandatory course that only runs for the first week or so. The irony of Wellston running a course dedicated to teaching the ‘responsible uses of abilities’ and ‘ethical day-to-day behaviour’ in its present state of affairs isn't lost on him.

Mere moments before the bell rings, Blyke suddenly bursts through the doorway. The teacher shoots him a look, but doesn’t audibly comment. John is kind of surprised - the other boy has always seemed pretty punctual with how serious he generally is. Upon closer examination, though, he looks positively exhausted, bags heavy-set and dark underneath his eyes. His hair is even more tousled than usual, sticking up in all directions, and his tie is inside-out.

“Damn, you look like you’re about to fall over,” John hears Blyke’s friend, the one with the tacky two-toned hair dye, whisper. He doesn’t get a response - the block commences, and the class is split into partners to discuss the reading they were assigned, a novel titled  _ King of the Ants. _

John is paired together with Blyke, and he internally cheers, just a bit - Blyke is nicer to him than literally everyone else in this school, and he seems pretty smart, too. Hopefully, he can leech off of his interpretation of the book.

Blyke drags his chair over to John’s desk, looking committed despite his sleepy eyes, and asks, “Thoughts?”

“Okay, so, the book was pretty interesting, but I didn’t really understand the ending,” John starts carefully. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it  _ doesn’t. _ Even beyond Blyke’s very public actions, he actually talks to John on a daily basis, too, like he really doesn’t care about being associated with a  _ cripple. _ It’s  _ really _ weird, in the best way possible, because no one of Blyke’s rank has ever been like this before.

“Hmm, I think the ending means that despite our best efforts to uphold order and civility, humans are inherently prone to self-destruction. Basically, the line between civilized order and inherent human savagery is blurred.” Blyke snorts. “I don’t agree at all.”

“You don’t?”

A shake of the head. “No way! There are a lot of assholes in the world, obviously, but I think there’s also a lot of good in the world. We can’t just give up, you know? There  _ has _ to be something worth believing in, something worth fighting for. There’s no way  _ everyone _ is inherently bad.”

John regards Blyke - skeptically, if he’s being honest with himself, though he knows he shouldn’t be. It’s a terribly optimistic position to take, frankly; John’s always assumed Blyke to be more realist than optimist. But then, he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s unlikely that Blyke’s known anything  _ but _ some level of power and security.

How blindly, foolishly naive of him.

_ Stay positive! _ (Today, it’s an effort to remind himself.) Glass half full, Blyke’s right.

“Yeah, you’re right!” John finally replies, chipperly. He looks away, out at the autumn leaves brushing against the window. “Sometimes I just don’t understand how people can be so negative all the time.”

Blyke offers him a smile, small and subdued, but genuine. The way the expression sits on his face - stiffly, almost, for lack of a better word - John can tell it’s not something that many people are privileged to see. “I dunno, some people have reason to be pessimistic. I don’t think it’s the best way to go about life, but I can understand how some people don’t have the energy to stay hopeful.”

That throws John for a bit of a loop, admittedly - well, if he’s being  _ perfectly _ honest with himself, this whole conversation has thrown him for a bit of a loop. The last time he’s felt this  _ equal _ to a high ranker, at least while he’s posing as a cripple, was...well, never. The patronizing pity that the few well-meaning high rankers regard him with is completely absent, because Blyke actually treats him like a fucking human being. Maybe it’s a bare minimum thing, but it means a lot to John.

They go over the symbolism of the book for the rest of the block (or, ahem, Blyke hard carries the discussion), and after the bell rings, signalling the end of class, John decides on a whim to ask, “So, are you free after school today?”

“Um.” Blyke stops in the middle of zipping up his backpack. “I have club stuff, sorry.”

“Debate Club?” John guesses. Blyke seems like the kind of person to be a part of the Debate Club. He’s pretty confrontational, after all, even though he’s not hostile or aggressive to those who haven’t provoked him.

“Nah, I’m starting a new one. I think you…” he hesitates, but continues, “...might be interested in it.”

“Oh, really?” John says. Despite what misgivings he does still have about Blyke (which, that’s ridiculous, why should he have misgivings about someone who's been nothing but nice to him? The least he can do is give him a chance), his curiosity is piqued. “What kind of club is it?”

“I want to create a safe space for students, especially lower ranking students. As you probably know all too well, the way Wellston deals with violence is-” Blyke grimaces, “ _ -really _ fucked up. Anyways, this club is just gonna be a pretty casual place where people can come chill without being scared of running into trouble.”

“Gotcha.”

Blyke stops for a moment, then quietly asks, “Do you think it’s a good idea?” 

“I…” John begins, but hesitates to continue. On a surface level, it sounds like an idea based solely on compassion. It sounds like the desperately-needed haven this godforsaken school needs for the low rankers lucky enough to be here at all.

But John knows better. Low-Tiers, probably, will make up the majority of the club’s members - and where there are Low-Tiers, Mid-Tiers will soon come to follow. And where there are Mid-Tiers, especially here in Wellston, there is no peace. There is no safety.

John should know. He’s the school  _ cripple. _

This ‘Safe House’ won’t last long, undoubtedly. But there’s such a softness, such a delicate vulnerability, in the way that Blyke poses the question that John simply can’t bring himself to dash his hopes with the truth. Blyke will simply have to learn this lesson the hard way, and John will just have to live with the guilt of holding his tongue.

He pulls on a smile he can only bring to feel lukewarm. “Yeah,” he says. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Blyke looks surprised for a moment, before he  _ beams _ \- a sort of giddy, disbelieving thing. “I’m...glad. Honestly, I was pretty scared that I’d end up making our school environment even more of a dumpster fire than it already is. Rei, our last King, did something similar, you know? Forced everyone to get along. And the moment he graduated, it all backfired.”

He sighs - out of frustration or something else, John can’t be sure. But he gets the feeling, watching his scowl deepen, that this is something that has bothered him for some time now. Only half on instinct, he mirrors Blyke’s frown.

“The high rankers took their resentment out on the low rankers. And now, to keep everyone in check, Wellston’s hierarchy is more rigid than ever,” Blyke continues, frown deepening. “The only solution I could think of is maybe creating an environment where people can forget about levels and everything, if only for a little while. Maybe then, people can start to actually  _ understand _ each other.”

At that, John subtly averts his gaze. It’s not that simple - it’s not  _ nearly _ that simple. People aren’t malleable and understanding like that at all, not in this world. They’re hard and bitter, set in their ways, whether either he or Blyke likes it or not.

“Low rankers not wanting to open up is totally understandable, and high rankers not wanting to pull their heads out of their asses, well, that shit is  _ not _ okay, but I can’t  _ force _ them to change.” Blyke’s going on ( _ still _ going on - John had never imagined him to talk this much). “I can only hope that the exposure will change their minds. If they started talking, they would realize that their low ranker peers are just as valuable to society as they are.”

John nods absently. He’s still listening, but only half at this point. It’s not that Blyke isn’t on the right track; he’s just...naive, is all. Naive and  _ so _ overly optimistic about the state of society as a whole.

But at least Blyke is  _ trying, _ John’s own inner optimist points out. That’s more than he could ever ask of quite literally any other high ranker.

His fading interest must be more apparent than he had assumed, because there’s a bit of an awkward silence that follows. Blyke’s cheeks flush, and he looks away. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I’m rambling, I know…” 

_No kidding._ “No no, it’s fine, but-” John stops for a second, then decides he _has_ to know and presses, "-why are you doing all this for the low rankers? I mean, you're not obligated to help." 

“What?” Blyke looks bewildered at the question. “Of course I’m obligated to help! I have the power to, so sitting on my ass and doing nothing is just  _ wrong." _

“But shouldn’t this be the Royals’ job? Heck, shouldn’t this be the Authorities’ job? It’s kinda unrealistic to expect high schoolers to do anything about something so big,” John challenges.

At the mention of the Authorities, Blyke stiffens. Cautiously, he says, “I don’t think the Authorities are as trustworthy or altruistic as they make themselves out to be.” 

John feels a muscle in his jaw twitch involuntarily at the thought. Keon’s weathered face flashes across his mind, and -  _ damn it all, _ he can’t afford to have an episode right now. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice just slightly taut.

“Well, they don’t seem to give a shit about the Low-Tier districts, for one.” Blyke grows more and more agitated with every word, voice and eyes equally as tight as John’s must be. “Citizens could suffer for  _ weeks _ on end, and those vain shitheads wouldn’t move an inch from their thrones of cash to help. For another, their reaction to the super-” he suddenly cuts himself off, visibly grimacing. “Ah, nevermind. I should-” he clears his throat. “-get going.”

“Wait!” John says, before he can stop himself. He wants to push more, because the way Blyke had talked about the Authorities had been startlingly personal, like he’s personally experienced  _ something. _ The hard edge that had crept into his voice shows that there’s probably something more to his words than just blind optimism, like John had assumed. Still, he doesn’t want to pry. He sure as hell doesn’t want anyone prying into his  _ own _ past, after all. “Can I come with?”

“You sure?” Blyke blinks. “It’ll be pretty boring. I’m just checking out the school’s attic to see if there’s anything I can use, like old board games and sofas.”

“I mean, yeah,” John says, slowly, allowing a bit of time for his brain to catch up with his tongue. He hadn’t been sure, at first, why he’d been so quick to invite himself along to the rest of Blyke’s day, but it’s starting to dawn on him now that maybe he’s just been a  _ bit _ lonely here at Wellston. It’s not as if he’s ever had anyone to talk to, after all, since he first arrived.

And honestly, while his solitary lifestyle is (almost) entirely intentional, the overwhelming loneliness of it all isn’t a good feeling in the slightest.

“Yeah,” he says again, smiling downwards at Blyke. “Maybe I can help you out!”

“Um, alright, if you say so.”

* * *

John tags along as Blyke stops by the front office to pick up the keys to the attic. They go up to the fourth floor - John hadn’t even known that there  _ is _ a fourth floor in the first place - and Blyke unlocks the attic door. Once he steps through the doorway, the darkness swallows him up. A moment later, a bright red glow floods the small space: light provided by his ability, John presumes.

Blyke’s voice floats somewhere from above. “Watch your head, there are spiderwebs literally everywhere.”

John begins to make his way up to the attic. The stairs creak under his weight, and true to Blyke’s word, he can see spiderwebs dangle from the ceiling. One hits square in the face, and he recoils backwards, coughing.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” John says through his coughing fit. “Just enjoying my gourmet meal of spiderwebs and dust.”

A dry chuckle. “Delicious, five stars.” A faint click sounds, and light spills into the stairwell. John squints against the sudden brightness and continues to make his way up. By the time he’s breached the entrance of the attic, his eyes have adjusted to the new lighting.

“The hell?” Blyke is standing in front of a few shelves and glaring at them. “I could’ve sworn there were more last time.” Judging by the way he mutters the words under his breath, he’s talking to himself. 

“Something wrong?”

“Well, see for yourself.” Blyke gestures to the shelf, and John steps closer to look at the singular box of sitting forlornly on the bottom section. It’s a set of Monopoly - an older edition, by the looks of it - with a peeling and faded cover. 

“The chairs all have weird holes and bugs in them,” he continues, pointing to the corner of the room. “I don’t want kids to come and walk away with their pants covered in moth shit or something.” 

“Do moths even shit?”

Blyke turns to give John a glare that somehow manages to look simultaneously weary and amused. “...is that really important right now?” he deadpans.

Ferociously, John pulls at the cobwebs stuck in his hair. “No no, it’s a totally valid question.”

“Right.” Blyke sighs. “Anyways, this isn’t gonna work. I’ll have to stop by the thrift store sometime.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a better idea, honestly,” John says, scanning the dingy (and quite frankly rather bare) shelves. “Thrift stores have all kinds of hidden treasures.”

Blyke blinks, and the corners of his mouth quirk up. “That’s true. You know, your positivity is really charming…”

“Hm?”

“Nevermind.” Blyke shakes his head. “Anyways, looks like my afternoon is free.” He falters for a moment, then adds, “Do you still wanna hang out?”

It’s John’s turn this time to blink in momentary surprise, and then he smiles as something warm and comfortable blooms in his chest. “Hell yeah!”

* * *

Woaba Boba has been John’s go-to place for the last couple of months, so that’s where he takes Blyke.

“So, have you ever tried boba before?” 

“My sisters and I tried making some a couple years back, but the batch turned out to be really sour, so I’m gonna say no, not really.”

“Alright, well, try mango,” John offers, sliding one of the menus across the table. “It’s my favourite.”

They place their orders, and a couple of minutes later, a waitress brings out their drinks. 

Blyke doesn’t stall, just picks up one of the cups and takes a sip. He stops for a moment, as if thoughtfully considering, then grins. “Oh wow, this is really good.”

“Told you so!”

“One thing, though. These black balls are supposed to be squishy?”

“You mean the bubbles?” John blinks and raises an incredulous brow. “Well, duh!”

Blyke laughs like it’s been surprised out of him. “When we made boba, they were hard. I totally thought they were supposed to be hard candies this entire time.”

“You’re  _ kidding _ .”

“I’m not!” Blyke says. “They were crunchy and everything!”

“Dude, that’s so gross. What did you even…”

“We followed the WikiHow instructions!” 

“WikiHow?” John squints. “Why?”

Blyke shrugs, a nonplussed expression crossing onto his face. A beat of awkward silence follows. John takes a sip of his boba, then clears his throat to ask, “Where are you from?” It’s pretty much  _ the _ most generic and boring question he could ask, but whatever.

“Saint Aresta, if you’ve heard of it?”

_ Oh. _ That’s surprising, to say the least. Saint Aresta is a semi-famous, quaint little town that’s even further away from Wellston than New Bostin, if John recalls correctly. But more importantly… “Isn’t it a Low-Tier district?”

Blyke shrugs again. “I mean, not entirely. Most of my neighbours are Mid-Tiers. And besides, real estate and everything in general is just a  _ lot _ less pricey, so after Mum moved us there, we never really felt the need to move out.”

A high ranker - an entire family of high rankers, John presumes - living in a Mid-Tier neighbourhood? He feels himself frown reflexively, though he’s quick to smooth out his expression afterward. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“Wait, so you live in a Mid-Tier district…?” he asks, not nearly as tentatively as he probably should. “Aren’t you an Elite or something?”

(He already knows that Blyke’s an Elite, actually - somewhere between four and five, perhaps the upper half. That’s how his aura reads, at least, but Blyke doesn’t need to know any of that.)

“That’s right.” Blyke’s eyebrows raise, like he’s confused about why John is confused. “Don’t look so surprised, alright? Saint Aresta’s really peaceful. Tons of gardens and wildlife.”

“...but why? That’s not exactly, uh, typical.” 

Understanding finally dawns on Blyke, clear in the way his eyes sharpen. “Well, my parents got a divorce when I was seven, and my sisters and I stayed with Mum. I don’t know anything about her side of the family other than they’re all High-Tiers like her, so it’s safe to say that she was completely on her own.”

“Wow, that must’ve been rough!” says John. He wonders if Dad would be able to relate. Given the amount of times he’s been called a ‘handful,’ he’s willing to bet Dad considers raising him as stressful as raising multiple kids. Easily.

“Rough is an understatement.” Blyke looks down into his lap. “I’m really,  _ really _ proud of her for making it through, but I also wanna make  _ her _ proud. She’s just sacrificed so much for me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let her down.”

He doesn’t look back up at John when he’s finished speaking, and the silence that descends is undeniably stilted. Blyke has shared a lot already, so it’s only fair for John to share something too. The way he nervously clears his throat suddenly seems far too loud, as does his voice when he offers, “I feel that. I’ve never met my mom before. My dad’s a cripple like me, and he raised me on his own.”

Not for the first time, guilt burns in his stomach. Blyke’s words about sacrifice is something he thinks about often, when he’s awake at night. Dad deserves a better son than a fuck up like him, and he hates himself for not knowing how to show how truly grateful he is even on good days.

“Shit, really?” Blyke frowns. “That makes me wonder… If Mum didn’t have the privilege of being a High-Tier, could she have gotten through everything?” He swallows hard, looks away. “Shit’s fucked. Sorry, man.”

“Hey, lighten up,” John says a bit too loudly, forcing down a wave of some overwhelmingly negative emotion to keep up his cheery, carefree persona. “He’s actually a pretty successful author! Dude, you remind me so much of my middle school self sometimes, with all your gloom and doom.” As much as he relishes in the feeling of a high ranker finally agreeing with what he’s always thought all along - shit’s fucked - he can’t afford to slip up.

Blyke blinks, somber mood lifting. “Two things: what books has he written, and...did you just compare your middle school self and me?”

John’s pretty sure that casually bringing up Dad’s most famous book, the, ahem,  _ banned _ one, wouldn’t exactly be appropriate, so he says, “Eh, just a lot of magic realism and scifi. Nothing big. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad his books do well and I think I’m pretty lucky ‘cause I’ve never had to worry about money.” 

He almost doesn’t say what he’s about to say next, because he’s already not acting the part - Cripples don’t tease Elites. Never. “And yeah, but I was more of a feral bulldog, while you’re like a grumpy housecat. Man, I  _ cannot _ believe that I used to think you were intimidating-” 

“The fuck? A housecat-”

“-when you’re literally a small, grumpy housecat,” John continues on as if he hadn’t heard. He plasters a pleasant smile onto his face even though  _ oh God why did I say that shit it’s literally not socially acceptable at all oh God he’s gonna hate me _ is the only thing running through his head as he awaits the reaction with bated breath.

“Shut the fuck up!” Blyke snaps, face as red as his hair. He’s positively seething and glaring daggers, but… doesn’t seem genuinely angry. Doesn’t seem threatening. John feels something he can’t put his finger on, something like a mix of relief and genuine surprise.

With a smugness he hopes seems real, he responds, “No, I don’t think I will. Here, have a headpat.”

“Back off, asshole!” Blyke picks up his boba and brandishes it like a weapon at John.

“Oh my God, did you just hiss? You literally just proved my point.”

Blyke takes a big sip of his boba, puffing out his cheeks and glaring again. “Argh, why do all my friends clown me so much?!”

John’s brain screeches to a stop. Blyke just... said  _ friends _ , that they’re  _ friends. _ Even the very thought buoys the heavy thing that’s always sitting in his chest, immovable and unyielding. But it’s only a fleeting freedom, and his thoughts darken again with the memory of Adrion and Claire. 

They had been his friends, too, once upon a time.

Forcefully, John pushes the memories away. “Well,” he says awkwardly, cursing himself internally for killing the mood. “Uh, so, why are you at Wellston? Besides the whole prestige thing everyone talks about.”

If Blyke noticed the shift in the atmosphere, he’s hiding it quite well. “Wellston offered me a full ride scholarship.”

John arches his eyebrows, though deep down he’s barely surprised. Blyke, from what little John does know about him, seems like the studious, hardworking student that only exists in fiction. Even disregarding his level, it only seems natural that he’d have a free ride to the country’s arguably most prestigious academy. Still, he says, “Wow, a  _ full _ scholarship? Isn’t that, like,  _ super _ hard to get?”

“Stop, it’s nothing.” Blyke looks away, bashfully waving him off. “To be honest, I could’ve done better.”

John nearly chokes on his boba at that. He had known (well, assumed) that Blyke was something of a perfectionist, but… “Better how?” he asks incredulously, unsuccessfully stifling his coughs. “But Wellston’s one of the top schools in the country! How could you  _ possibly _ have done ‘better’ than that?”

“I was actually aiming for Agwin. Wellston has a higher concentration of high rankers, but Agwin does better academically. It only offered me a partial scholarship, though, so…” Blyke trails off, tilting one of his shoulders up in a shrug. His cheeks, which had more or less gone back to their normal colour, flare red again.

Given what Blyke has told him about his past, John supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Blyke’s work ethic more resembles a Low- or Mid-Tier’s than an Elite’s. Still, it’s so dissonant and jarring to John’s paradigm that he can’t quite bring himself to take it in stride. “You’re really shooting for the top, huh,” he muses aloud. “That’s really admirable!”  _ Especially with your level. _

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” Blyke repeats, still red-faced and unable to look up. “Quit hyping me up so much!” Despite that, there’s an appreciative smile playing on his lips.

He’s  _ weird _ , really fucking weird. In the best way possible, of course, but he’s still weird. What kind of high ranker gets  _ shy _ over people complimenting them? John thinks back to how he had gotten Wellston’s Queen to back off, and how blasé he had been afterwards. What he had said about  _ killing _ afterwards is certainly extreme, and how he had defended her as a person but still held her accountable for her actions is… is something John has never seen before.

It all feels too good to be true.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?” Blyke blinks and nods.

“Why help  _ me?" _

Blyke doesn’t skip a beat. “Because the way everyone treats you is wrong. It’s basic human decency.”

“No, I mean-” John frowns, remembering Claire, how she had feigned compassion only to betray him for power in the bitter end. He bats the memory aside, instead fixing Blyke with a dubious look and asking, “Why help me in particular?”

“I’m not following.” Blyke looks confused.

“You always give me these weird looks. It’s like you’re-”  _ afraid _ , John almost says. (He thinks of the guarded look Blyke sports, the hunch of his shoulders and the unease in his eyes. Contrary to popular belief, John isn’t an idiot. He knows the signs when he sees them, because he’s painfully, intimately familiar with them. Blyke isn’t masking any of this - or maybe, he doesn’t have the ability to mask it - and John can’t figure him out at all.) “-uh, you don’t like me. So, why do you keep helping me?” 

Blyke freezes and goes completely silent. John hears nothing but chatter from the patrons around them for a few moments. “Well, um, the thing is…”

At his hesitance, John feels himself stiffen, sitting still and a bit rigid across from Blyke. “Yes?” 

“Like I said, I just want to help. I don’t want shit in return or anything like that. It’s just that you-” A delicate pause. “-remind me a lot of someone I know.” 

“And I’m guessing that’s not a good thing.” ( _ Obviously _ , it’s not a good thing.)

“How do I put this…” He seems to struggle with his words for a moment, before he warily continues, “This guy hurt my friends really, really badly. A lot of others, too, and in the chaos, a lot of people got caught in the crossfire when he was rampaging.”

Oh - a rampaging Elite, John’s guessing, or maybe even a low-ranking High-Tier. From what he’s heard, Elites are most commonly the ones to commit those sorts of crimes. But, Blyke’s aura reads as a fairly powerful Elite, so… “You didn’t stop him?” he asks carefully.

“Oh, I tried. Fat load of good  _ that _ did against a God-Tier.” Blyke laughs, a harsh, self-deprecating sound. “He casually hospitalized me. Difference in absolute power and all that jazz.”

“What?” John’s eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t know Blyke particularly well - they’ve only just begun to get to know one another today - but John’s fairly certain that he doesn’t deserve that sort of treatment. The way Blyke had worded it makes him think there’s more to that than just a one-off incident, too. “Wait, what about the infirmary?”

  
Blyke shrugs sardonically. “I mean, there isn’t much a school doctor can do for spinal fractures.” 

A chill runs up John’s spine, colder than the approaching winter, and his blood turns to ice.

This mystery person sounds familiar -  _ too _ familiar. Far too close to a version of himself he promised the world he’d keep locked away to the end of his days. But there’s no fucking way Blyke knows anything about  _ that  _ John. It’s not possible - John  _ literally _ just formally met him the other day. New Bostin and Saint Aresta are on complete opposite ends of the country, too, so there’s no possibility of past encounters whatsoever.

He swallows the lump of ice lodged in his throat. “Whoa, unnecessary much. Are you...are you okay now?”

“That’s not really...I don’t really care about that.” Blyke shakes his head. “I made a full recovery a  _ long _ time ago. But while I was out cold, Wellston phoned Mum, and-” his voice breaks, “-she  _ cried _ . I  _ never _ want to make her cry again. She’s already so stressed, and I can’t make her worry more.”

There’s an odd sense of jealousy that strikes John at that, listening to Blyke talk about his mom. It’s obvious that they’re close, and for some reason, that only reminds John of his own shortcomings as a son. Dad had been stressed too, he remembers, after New Bostin had called him about the ‘incident’ (the  _ ambush _ , more like). But where Blyke had worried for his mom and the effect  _ his injuries _ had on her, John had pushed Dad away. It had hurt too much, at the time, to do much of anything else.

(How long has it been since he’s talked to Dad again? Two weeks? Three?)

“Yeah,” John replies at last, lamely. _Damn_ _it_ , he’d gotten caught up in memory again. But today is just turning out to be one of those days where the past simply refuses to lie still in its grave.

“You know what’s the most laughable part of this entire thing? He literally couldn’t care less. He has no remorse about  _ anything _ he’s done, while he lives in  _ my _ head fucking rent free. He scares me shitless.” Blyke laughs again, the sound so utterly devoid of humor it almost sounds sharp. “I’m such a goddamn coward, aren’t I.”

For a moment, John wishes Blyke wasn’t so easy to read, because his  _ distress _ is painfully apparent. John finds himself scrambling to do something, anything - even though they hardly know each other, the flash of jealousy is gone now, and he knows deep down that Blyke doesn’t deserve to feel like  _ that _ . “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself for something you had no control over. When you try your best and it isn’t enough…” He shakes his head ruefully. “...I can relate.”

Blyke jolts in his seat and looks away, discomfort clear in the way he picks at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve. 

John realizes that he doesn’t want to hear more. Doesn’t want to know about this person, who had been cruel enough to hurt Blyke - sympathetic, thoughtful Blyke -  _ that _ badly. Doesn’t want to know about this loose canon of a high ranker, who reminds him of pain and uncontrollable rage and the blood of his classmates underneath his fingernails. 

Admittedly, there’s a sense of morbid curiosity urging him to see just how bad this guy is when compared to himself, but that is far outweighed by the bile that rushes up his throat.

Quickly, he injects cheer into his voice and says, “Okay, enough about that guy! Do you, uh, like video games?”

“I guess?” Blyke looks just as relieved as John feels at the change of topic. “I’ve never really had time for them, though.” 

“Well, over the break, we can try Craftmines or League of Loneliness of Life.” John winks. Or tries to wink, at least. “They’re my favourites.”

After that, conversation comes easy and comfortable. For all that Blyke is serious and no-nonsense, he is not unkind. He’s easy to talk to in the way he doesn’t complicate nor demand anything. When a waitress comes to kick them out to close up, it feels like barely any time has passed.

“I enjoyed today more than I thought I would.” Blyke smiles, open and sincere. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re  _ nothing _ like the person I told you about. You know, the one I said reminded me of you.” 

“Oh.” There’s an odd sort of tightness in John’s chest, and it takes a while for the fact that it’s not a  _ bad _ tightness to register. 

“See you tomorrow.” Blyke waves and heads off into the fading sunlight.

“Yeah, see you.” 

It’s not until John’s gotten back to his apartment that he realizes he feels happy - feels happy, for the first time in, well, he can’t even remember how long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Chel, who hard carried my characterization of John’s cripple persona, as well as created the HC that John can 'read' people's auras to see their rough ability levels.
> 
> My theories about Blyke's backstory come from the following: he's very studious [[1] ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/403338617914654720/792640504696406047/Screen_Shot_2020-12-26_at_9.17.22_PM.png)[[2] ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794781828137222154/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_8.10.45_PM.png)[[3] ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794781831219642378/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_8.10.55_PM.png)[[4] ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794781831803043840/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_8.11.22_PM.png)[[5] ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794781832226537472/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_8.12.25_PM.png)[[6]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794781835758010438/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_8.14.41_PM.png) and judging by [his childhood room](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756339605888041151/794781829298389002/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_7.58.46_PM.png), he doesn't come from a wealthy family (especially when compared to Seraphina or even John, whose dad is a bestselling author despite how 'ordinary' he seems). As [a preppy private school](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/420765255807926283/794781488036970506/Screen_Shot_2021-01-01_at_8.06.35_PM.png), it's safe to assume that Wellston consists of rich kids and scholarship students.


	7. vigilant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a pretty big difference between John here and current John (in the webtoon), haha. I hope that’s a good thing.
> 
> Anyways, a special thanks to my dear readers for being so patient! School has been super hectic this past month. ;;w;; I’m super grateful to my commentors: jarloshippa, TheGeekGurl, Olibong, emunu, pogchamp, MissPlume, Red_Winged_Blackbird, Mo, Bunnystuff325, Mrpeanutbutter, chaotictired, Juan almada, PsychoRien, torch (cheesycheriosish), YinYangZodiac, Anonymousme, and Mondmaedchen! 
> 
> Thank you all for the support! <3 You are all lovely, lovely people.

vig·i·lant

/ˈvijələnt/

keeping careful watch for possible danger or difficulties.

Rei 👑  
  
Today 7:49 AM, Wed Sept 10  
**Rei:** Blyke, are you free tonight? Let’s visit Kovoro Mall together - there’s this ability gauger stall I’d like to check out. Plus, I have a couple of people I want to introduce you to.  
  
**Blyke:** Yeah, of course!  
**Blyke:** You're still in Wellston? I thought you were leaving/have already left?  
**Rei:** I changed my mind. I think this is more important.  
  
**Blyke:** Ohhhh okay  
**Blyke:** Do I need to bring anything?  
  
**Rei:** Nope, just bring yourself and meet me at the front of the mall. 😉 Does 9 PM work for you?  
  
**Blyke:** It works!  
  


“Holy shit, are you texting Rei? _Wellston’s past King_?”

“Argh!” Blyke whirls around, heart hammering in his throat. “Will you stop doing that?!”

“His sister is Remi, right? She’s pretty. And pretty nice,” Isen continues on, still peering over Blyke’s shoulder as if he hadn’t said anything in the first place. 

Blyke scowls, clicks the power button on his phone, and shoves it roughly into his backpack. Fuck, he _really_ hopes Isen didn’t read his screen. It’s not particularly incriminating or anything - which is on purpose; you can never be too careful when the goddamn Authorities might be sniffing around - but he’ll have a lot of explaining to do, regardless. He begins to stride forwards, down the path and towards Wellston’s main campus. “Why are you bringing Remi up all of a sudden? Weirdo.”

“Hey, hey, defensive much? Just trying to make conversation.” Isen smirks. “I just know her ‘cause we went to the same middle school.” 

“Right.” Blyke vaguely remembers hearing about that, though he’s not sure _when_ exactly, so he refrains from saying anything that could potentially incriminate himself by changing the subject. “Anyways, Isen, can you do me a favour?”

“What kind of favour?” Isen asks, spinning on his heel. He begins to walk backwards, now fully facing Blyke.

“Well, I started this club, so I was wondering if you could help me spread the word about it.”

Isen puts a hand to his chin. “ _Another_ club? Aren’t you in, like, four?”

“I quit them all."

“All? Weren’t you next in line for Debate Captain?” Isen’s brows raise, and he adds, “Which I know because, _ahem_ , you talked my ear off about it over the summer. ‘Good for university applications’ and all that shit.”

“Ugh, don’t even remind me,” Blyke groans, frowning. He had thought about it and ultimately decided that he wouldn’t be able to balance Debate Club on top of Safe House and the vigilan- the _Rei_ thing, which really is a shame, since it _does_ look good on university applications, after all.

Isen’s brows raise even higher. “O…kay. Someone’s got his priorities straight. What kind of cool new club demands your attention _this_ much?”

“Just a place for people to peacefully hang out and not have to worry about getting jumped. You can think of it as, hm, a Chill Club?”

Isen snorts. “A ‘Chill Club’? That’s lame as hell, dude.”

“Fuck you, Isen-” Blyke is saying, until a sudden thought occurs to him. “Wait a sec, you’re aware of and okay with people _getting jumped_ all the time?”

“And you _just_ noticed?” Isen looks bewildered. “That’s pretty insane.”

“I… I guess I was too preoccupied with keeping my grades up.” Blyke winces. He’s never really concerned himself with those beyond his immediate social circle until very recently. “I’m not trying to- I don’t have an excuse, I‘m just trying to change things now.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty over this, you know.” Isen shrugs. “You’re completely allowed to just care about your grades, Debate Club, those Japanese cartoons you like so much, whatever.”

“Anime,” Blyke corrects automatically. “But more importantly, I- _we_ have a moral responsibility, as high rankers, to-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Isen shoots Blyke a look. “Don’t drag _me_ into this. Look, I don’t turn a blind eye to everything. I stop fights when I see them. I just don’t have the time to go out of my way to try to change people, because change is something that takes a shit ton of time and effort, not something you can just force.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna take a lot of effort, but we still have to try!” Blyke says hotly. “The low rankers at Wellston can’t go a day without getting harassed!”

“There is no ‘we’.” Isen sighs, as if he’s talking to a child. “Your whole schtick about helping people is just peachy, but it’s not realistic. Look at us - we’re fucking teenagers. What can we do? And plus, we’re not morally required to do shit. Leave that up to, I dunno, Arlo and Seraphina.”

“Your point is?” Blyke glares. “Arlo and Seraphina are also teenagers.”

“Well, fine then. Leave it up to the teachers. I mean, _you_ can do whatever you want with your time. Just don’t expect _me_ to help.”

Blyke doesn’t skip a beat. “I’ll let you steal my ramen.” Actually, Isen already does that, so for good measure, he adds, “And I’ll buy you, like, strawberry milk every day.”

“Dude, I was _joking_ . Don’t get me wrong, I still think it’s super lame. But I’m your _best friend_ , obviously I’m gonna give you a hand when you ask for it.”

“Oh.” Blyke looks away and clears his throat. “Well, I’ll send you the info after class.”

Isen snorts. “What would you do without me?”

“Oh, I dunno, be less distracted, maybe.”

“Me? Distracting? Never. Now, go to class.”

* * *

“Hey, Blyke.”

“Oh, hi.” Blyke smiles (albeit a bit awkwardly), waves. Whatever had happened yesterday still feels like some sort of fever dream. John obviously needs a friend, he just… hadn’t expected that friend to be him. Are they even friends? That _thing_ he’d said had been a mindless, thoughtless comment, an attempt at a joke, and he isn’t sure if he should regret it or not.

John awkwardly smooths a hand over the black, gelled helmet he likes to call a hairstyle. There’s something in his mannerisms that comes across as distinctly nervous. “How, uh-” He coughs, clears his throat, tries again. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, and you?” Blyke responds. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he cringes. This is literally _the_ most generic and boring response.

“Pretty good. Listen, I…” John stops again, interrupting himself with a sigh. “I just… thank you. For standing up for me and everything.”

Blyke shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” John says, “I really _do_ appreciate you sticking up for someone like me, ‘cause not many people are willing to do something like that. So thanks, really, again.”

Discomfort pricks at the back of Blyke’s neck, partly because he really doesn’t feel like he deserves so much credit, and partly because it’s still so fucking _weird._ Having the guy that quite literally haunts his dreams act so friendly is giving him _so_ much mental whiplash. 

(He’s been having these dreams practically every night, and yesterday was no exception. It’d been so bad that he couldn’t go back to sleep, and, well, the best way to deal with nightmares is to not have them at all, so he just stayed up. Maybe he should be taking advantage of these nightmares, these missing memories, because there’s a gaping chasm he can’t fill in when he tries remembering how exactly he time-travelled in the first place.)

“It’s no big deal, seriously.” Blyke pauses. He also doesn’t want to seem like he’s brushing off John’s feelings, or trivializing his gratitude. Smiling, he adds, “Really, don’t worry about it.”

John smiles back, and it looks genuine enough. “Well, still,” he says, “thank you.”

* * *

After class, Isen comes over to his dorm. When Blyke sees the swivel chair he’s brought with him, he raises a brow. “Seriously? It’s just one afternoon.”

“Shhh,” Isen says. “Watch and learn.” He tries getting through the doorway and ends up smashing one of the wheels against the doorframe. Blyke raises his other brow.

After a bit of bickering, they settle down. Isen’s lazy and flippant as hell, but Blyke knows there’s no writer more competent than he is in Wellston. There’s no one else he’d trust with this project.

“Alright,” Isen says through a mouthful of spicy instant ramen (stolen from Blyke’s stash), “let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Cautiously, Blyke slides his laptop over. “I swear to God, if you spill over my laptop-”

Isen waves his chopsticks around dismissively and drawls, “Yeah, yeah, chillax,” which really isn’t reassuring in the slightest. He leans forwards, eyes on the screen, and begins to read.

“ _The aspiration of the Safe House is to foster the organic development of healthy relationships between distinct groups of people who would otherwise not have the opportunity to_ -” he stops short to cackle for a few moments. “What is this, a fucking academic research paper pitch? How you managed to replicate the writing style of a rich pretentious boomer while being none of those things is _freaky!_ What kind of nerd would willingly-”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Blyke shoots him an unimpressed look. “Can I have _constructive_ criticism?”

“Look, if you want to reach the masses, you gotta decrease the complexity of your language. And don’t write a wall of text! It’s hurting my brain, and I’m barely a sentence in.”

It’s more or less what he had said last time. Blyke had kinda forgotten about it until now - too much stuff on his mind. “Ugh, okay.”

“What, no witty comeback?” Isen says, leaning back in his chair. “Boo hoo, not enough oxygen down there for our poor wittle-”

“Quiet,” Blyke snaps, rolling his eyes. There are a couple of hours before he has to go, so he supposes there’s enough time. “Only the brains of the illiterate would hurt from reading _one_ paragraph.”

Isen laughs at this, leaning back further in his chair. “Oh, Blasty, don’t you know that the illiterate can’t read at all? You’re a walking contradiction. Anyways, let’s get to rewriting th-” 

A loud _crash_ sounds throughout the room.

“Isen, you fuckface! I’m gonna fucking _strangle_ you!”

* * *

“I’m sorry, okay!” Isen says for the umpteenth time.

Blyke waits until he’s finished crossing the street to look over his shoulder. “You _better_ be!” It’s a comical sight - Isen’s got a towering stack of single sofas and beanbag chairs balanced in his arms; at the very top of a stack, there’s a cloth grocery bag of snacks. It’s a far cry from the manageable stack of board games Blyke is carrying, and two passersby shoot him looks of mild fear.

Serves the bastard right. He’d completely overbalanced and single-handedly destroyed the computer. Blyke had gotten him to clean it up - after hunting him down, of course - and dragged him to the thrift shop to pick up stuff for Safe House.

“I already _promised_ I’d buy you the exact same one, so when you-”

“-return it at the end of the year, the teachers won’t notice,” Blyke finishes, scowling. “Fuck you, seriously, you _know_ it was borrowed!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Isen repeats. He looks genuinely apologetic, so Blyke sighs and decides to let him off the hook. 

“Hmmph.” Salty that Isen’s able to so casually do something like this, he tacks on, “You’re such a frat boy.”

“How are you gonna get these into your clubroom, though?” 

“Easy.” Blyke clears his throat. “ _You’re_ carrying them up the stairs, one by one.”

To his surprise, Isen merely sighs in acquiescence. “Yeah, well, I probably was gonna have to do that anyway.” 

“What?” Blyke’s arms start to cramp, and he adjusts the stack of board games slightly. “What do you mean?”

“ _You_ really thought you’d carry all these by yourself? Yeah, right.” Then, as if it’s an afterthought, he adds, “Noodle arms.”

Blyke seethes. “Shut _up_ , it’s not like you can even beat me in an arm-wrestling match without your ability!”

“Psh, that was back in First Year. I’m a whole new person now. But my point is,” Isen’s tone suddenly shifts, “I’m your friend. You can rely on me.”

Blyke stops in his tracks. Looks back. When Isen catches his eye, he grins. 

It’s… it’s weird. He really had thought Isen was still the same, but he’s not. _Everyone_ , including Isen, is different from how they had been back there, and it’s jarring. 

(It’s jarring in a good way. Has he always been like this?)

“I… I know.”

Isen’s quiet for a few moments. Then, he offers, “Wanna go skating this weekend? We can grab a few of the other Elites, you know, have a good time?”

Shit, when was the last time Blyke had done something just for the sake of doing it? He can’t really remember. Whatever, fuck it. “Sure, why not.”

The rest of the trip is peaceful, comfortable. Isen complains in his typical playful and jokey way, because of course he does, as they move everything into the clubroom. By the time they’ve cleaned all the furniture, it’s evening.

“I’ll get you the posters tomorrow,” Isen promises, dusting himself off and turning to leave. “Later, Angry Bird.”

“Thanks, bro.” Blyke waves goodbye. He scrubs a hand across his eyes, thinking as he paces around the room. _Can_ he tell Isen? It’ll be good to have someone else looking everything over, after all. He thinks back to Isen’s reaction, his reaction last time, and decides against it.

Maybe later? But not now, at least.

Blyke leaves the room, locking the door behind him, and half-jogs in the direction of the mall. It’s kinda funny to be back so soon. When he gets to the front of Kovoro Mall, the shock of bright green hair instantly catches his eye.

As he gets closer, Rei waves him over. “Hey.”

“Um, good evening,” Blyke says, a bit more shyly than he’d like to admit. With the air of charisma and confidence Rei radiates, it’s hard to not be a little awestruck.

“Blyke, I’d like you to meet my colleagues.” Rei gestures to the two people next to him - a tall woman with wavy, reddish-pink hair, and a green-eyed man with a long, sleek ponytail. “They’re both Wellston alumni, actually.”

“I’m Kassandra. I was Wellston’s Queen for two years, and I-” her voice drops to a low whisper, “-go by Venom.”

The man introduces himself next. “The name’s Kuyo, or Gladius. Whichever one you prefer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Venom was one of the heroes found on the Death Pool Flyer, and Gladius… well, y’all can guess who Gladius is. ;)


	8. horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish everyone a very happy and restful holiday! Consider this chapter (nearly 3k words of Blyke being starry-eyed over his cool senpais) a late Christmas gift. Thank you to my lovely commentors: Olibong, OrdinaryunOrdinary, Winter_Draken, MissPlume, TheGeekGurl, Mondmaedchen, Anonymousme, emunu, and jarloshippa.

ho·ri·zon

/həˈrīzən/

the line at the farthest place that you can see, where the earth seems to meet the sky

* * *

“It’s _you_ !” Blyke blurts out before he can stop himself, because this is unmistakably the person who fucking _saved his life_. The man’s hair and eye colour, his height, his superhero status, what his alias - Gladius - suggests about his ability. It all adds up.

“It’s me,” Kuyo responds, smirking but not unkind. “What’s up.”

“Sorry, I just-” Embarrassment creeps up Blyke’s throat, but it’s quickly replaced when the feelings of _that night_ come back. He looks away. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Kuyo quirks a brow, green eyes gleaming. “Did Future Me do something to send you back?” 

“No, no, I… I was in Grasshill alone, and there were these two Elites - I think - on amps. I probably should’ve left, but there were these locals trying to fight back, and I couldn’t just leave them...” Blyke trails off, hoping that Kuyo can fill in the blanks himself. 

He doesn’t think he can say _I would have gruesomely died alone if you weren’t there_ out loud without getting sick. Back then, there really hadn’t been much time to dwell on it, and even now, it’s not as if he has that luxury, but… It’s hard to _not_ think about it. “Really, I… thank you, I don’t know how I’ll be able to repay you-”

“None of that,” Kassandra suddenly interjects. “Stop treating us like celebrities. Kuyo’s ego is already big enough.”

Unsure of whether to laugh politely or not, Blyke looks up. Kuyo meets his gaze and grins.

“You don’t owe me shit, kid. I’m just glad you got out okay, and besides,” Kuyo jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Rei, “you went out of your way to talk to Rei, and that means a lot to me.”

Blyke glances between the two, and finally, it _clicks._ The dead friend the other Kuyo had been talking about, that must’ve been Rei.

“I just did what anyone would’ve,” Blyke says quietly.

Kassandra chuckles. “That’s quite the generous assumption about society, don’t you think?” 

“I- yeah, I guess.” Blyke shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying to think of an appropriate response. He decides to forego it altogether and change the subject. “So, um, is there some sort of superhero secret society?”

Rei huffs out a laugh. “I wish.”

“There used to be something similar to that. Personal experience,” Kassandra says, frowning. “But without a common goal, most- _all_ of us struggled to work together. High-Tiers are prideful, more than anything else. I’d like to believe that everyone was there because they wanted to do good, but ultimately, there were too many disagreements about the meaningless, petty things.”

“The only reason the three of us work together well is because of familiarity,” Kuyo adds. “If we didn’t all go to school together, I highly doubt our teamwork would hold under stressful situations.”

It makes sense - the dead superheroes left behind by EMBER were always by themselves, after all. Still, it feels awful to hear about this, to be grimly reminded like this. “Oh, I see.” Blyke rubs at the back of his neck. “Um, sorry about getting sidetracked. What did you call me here to do?”

“Kid, stop apologizing so much.” Kuyo pats him on the head a few times. It’s… it’s nice. Blyke doesn’t know what having an older sibling feels like, but if he had to guess, he’d say this.

Rei offers a small smile and says, “Nothing _too_ much. Kassandra is going to have her level tested, and once she gets the prize, she’ll ask about the chip inside. When the smoke bomb drops, I’ll take a few of the chips and Kuyo will try to see if he can nab the invisible person.”

“Take?” Blyke echoes, quickly comparing the plan with what had happened back when he first encountered the ability gauging stand. “Are you guys planning on doing something with the chips?”

“Some sort of analysis, yeah.” Kuyo gestures at Kassandra, who nods. “Kass works in tech, so she can work some of her techy magic, but first-”

“-I need to get my hands on them,” Rei finishes. “Right now, we don’t know what the chips actually do, so we need more information before we can act.”

Blyke tilts his head to the side. “Your ability lets you tell what kinda chip it is?”

“In a sense, yes. I’m studying to become an electrician, so I’d say I’m decently familiar with this kind of thing.”

Blyke nods. After his, Remi, and Isen’s attempt had been a bust, he didn’t really think much about the trackers again. He regrets that now. If he had just dug a little deeper, maybe there’d be more information for them to work with. 

“Do you want me to clear the smoke?

“Well, I’ll be using it for cover.” Rei thinks for a moment. “But maybe you’ll need to. We’ll see how fast the smoke clears. The main issue is that we’re basing this off of what happens a few months from now, right? Here’s to hoping these guys have been doing the same thing for a while.”

The weight of the situation has finally begun to settle in, and Blyke swallows, suddenly feeling nervous. _Fuck,_ what they’re gonna do feels very, very illegal. It’s much bigger than the little ‘chase’ he went on with Remi and Isen, at least, yet Rei, Kassandra, and Kuyo all seem so confident. Assured, both in their own capabilities, and the righteousness of their actions.

Blyke looks to the sky and blanches when he realizes how dark it’s getting. “We should probably, er, get going before the mall closes.” He ducks his head, feeling his face heat with embarrassment. “Sorry for talking so much.”

“Hey, what did I _just_ say about apologizing?” 

* * *

By the time they’ve reached the tacky blue sign and brown-purple tablecloth, Blyke’s nerves have calmed, or at least, he’s suppressed them enough to convince himself that he’s calm. The vendor, decked out in his blue blazer and red tie, looks bored at his empty table. 

Kuyo smirks. “Showtime.”

It’s the perfect timing - the mall’s about to close, so security should be lax, and whoever’s around should be getting tired.

Kassandra makes her way to the vendor, where she says, “Excuse me, I’d like to get a reading done.”

“Of course!” The vendor responds warmly. He extends his hand. “Your arm, please.” Kassandra shifts closer, and as soon as they make contact, his eyes begin to glow. Several moments pass before he shuts off his ability and looks up.

“How splendid! Young lady, you’re very powerful. You scored a six!” _Whoa, she’s strong!_ The vendor pulls back behind the table, rummaging for something. “Let me get your prize!” He sets a bear with a pink bow tied around its neck on the table and smiles. “A cute little bear for a cute little lady!”

“Is that so,” Kassandra drawls, tone casual as she picks the bear up. She gives it a quick twirl, then digs her thumbs into its back and rips it open. “What’s this chip doing inside, then?” Stuffed animal fluff spills across the floor in a cascade of white.

The vendor’s eyes go wide as dinner plates, and he visibly shrinks back as Kassandra places the bear back onto the table with exaggerated care. “I- I don’t know! My boss gives me these prizes-”

“My ability says you’re lying,” Kuyo cuts in sharply, eyes glowing. 

“A-Ah, I- I just...”

Then, white smoke fills the area. Blyke coughs, lungs burning and eyes stinging, and tries to get his senses straight. Ah, fuck, this _again._ It’s going according to plan, but sheesh, the smoke is _really_ unpleasant.

He flounders, unsure of what to do. A few moments pass with him just awkwardly standing around, because he isn’t really supposed to be doing anything.

Soon enough, the smoke turns into thin wisps on its own. Blyke squints through what remains of the haze. Kassandra’s got the Ability Gauge Vendor locked down - one of his arms is twisted behind him, and she has a knee planted on his back, pinning him down. It’s a bit extreme, but he agrees that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beside her, Rei’s posture is relaxed, and he’s got his hands in his pockets.

“What’s the meaning of this?!”

Kassandra doesn’t even blink at the security guard who comes bounding around the corner. “Can I help you, officer?” Her voice is polite, but Blyke recognizes it for the threat it is. 

The security guard clearly does, too, because he looks a little intimidated. He clears his throat, then asks, “What’s going on here?”

“I was just checking out the stall of this kind vendor here,” Kassandra says, tipping her head towards the information sign, “After I got my prize, I was informed that there was a chip planted inside.” She lifts her free hand to show the chip sitting in her palm.

“My ability lets me detect electrical signals, even when it’s not active,” Rei adds, not-so-subtly making his High-Tier status known. “That’s how we knew.”

The vendor startles at this, and Blyke can’t help but feel bad for the poor guy. It’s gotta be confusing as hell, getting ganged up on like this. Especially since the recounting isn’t even accurate to reality.

Kuyo takes a step towards the security guard. “And _my_ ability lets me sniff out liars. The second I called him out on his bullshit, the smoke bomb dropped.”

The security guard only seems to consider what he’s been presented with for a fleeting moment, because he’s quickly turning to glare at the vendor. “You’ve _always_ been sketchy and now, you’ll be having a nice, long chat with me in the security office.”

“Please, I-”

The vendor’s sentence is cut off when the security guard says, “Apologies for the inconvenience.” He’s addressing Kassandra, Rei, and Kuyo now. Awkwardly, Blyke fiddles with a loose string on his sleeve. The contrast between how they handled it and how Remi, Isen, and he handled it back then - there’s a clear difference, to say the least.

“Would you like me to sedate him?” Kassandra asks, eyes glowing as she activates her ability. From her superhero codename, Blyke guesses that she probably has an ability that has to do with poison of some sort? Maybe she’s able to create tranquillizing poison.

“That- that won’t be necessary, miss,” the security guard responds, looking visibly nervous now. “If you could just…” 

“Of course.” Kassandra hops to her feet, releasing the vendor, and the security guard clamps a firm hand on his shoulder. He apologizes one last time, then the two are off.

“Guys, c’mon,” Rei says, jerking his head towards the exit. His eyes are far away, like he’s concentrating on something, and, with his hands still buried in his pockets, Blyke is sure he’s trying to figure out the deal with the chips.

Once their little group is in an alley behind the mall, free from the watchful gaze of security cameras, Blyke curiously turns to Kuyo to ask, “Your ability lets you lie detect?” Blyke asks curiously.

“Nah, that was a bluff.” Kuyo laughs. “He _was_ lying, you know that, but my ability has nothing to do with lie detection.” With a sharp smile, he continues, “Most people are just compelled to find High-Tiers trustworthy, if you know what I mean.”

On a conceptual level, it makes sense. High-Tiers _are_ very well respected, after all. But it just feels… weird, even if the intentions aren’t nefarious. “Oh.” 

Kuyo shoots him a look. “Your parents are Elites, at least, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Blyke responds, unsure of where the conversation is heading. “Mum’s a High-Tier, and Dad’s an Elite.”

“Well, I was just gonna say-”

Rei suddenly stops short, spinning around sharply with furrowed brows. He puts a finger to his lips, gesturing down at the chips, then points at his ears. _Bugged,_ Kassandra mouths, and he nods.

“Oops, lost my train of thought,” Kuyo continues without skipping a beat. His eyes dart around rapidly, until they zero in on something and light up. “Hey, guys, let’s go catch a movie.”

“Okay,” Blyke says as casually as he can, trying to go along with it. Up ahead, Kassandra mouths something else to Rei that Blyke can’t quite catch, and Rei shakes his head, then jerks his thumb across his throat: a silent signal to stop something? 

Soon enough, they’re back in the mall. Rei slips into the hallway to the movie theatre, sends a bolt of lighting up the wall, and drops off a handful of chips at the foot of the door.

“I shut off the security cams for a bit,” he explains as soon as they’re a good distance away. “Anyways, from what I can tell, those chips are bugged trackers. I don’t know what sort of signal they’re projecting, but they’re definitely designed for location gathering.”

Kassandra thoughtfully murmurs, “I can try reverse-tracking them.”

“Need my help?” Rei raises a brow. 

“Yeah, most likely.”

Kuyo shakes his head with a sigh. “You’re seriously gonna put them all in the same location and risk giving ourselves away? I say we try luring them out. Split up, have them come to _us,”_

Blyke watches the exchange, fascinated. These three are professionals, _real_ superheroes. And he’s just some kid who barely knows what he’s doing, not even a High-Tier. He doesn’t want to be just dead weight to them.

Rei instantly shoots the idea down. “No. Too risky.”

“Then let’s cut our losses and move on,” Kuyo suggests. “It’s not like we’ve made any prior investments to this, after all.”

“I disagree.” Kassandra’s eyes narrow. “Throwing away our first real lead isn’t worth it.”

“Well, what do you think, kid?” Three pairs of expectant eyes turn to Blyke, and he jolts. His palms begin to sweat. _Fuck,_ he feels like such a child right now (which he supposes he is, compared to them) and he just really, really doesn’t want to mess up something so serious. 

He hesitates for a moment, then tries, “I could bring one to Wellston’s Headmaster? I don’t think he’ll do anything, but I dunno, maybe letting him know that local High-Tiers are getting targeted is a good idea?”

The three exchange a look, and Kuyo says, “Hang on, Head _master?_ They got a new one?”

Blyke blinks. “Oh, um,” he says, “he’s been around since I enrolled, two years ago.”

“Well,” Rei looks pensive, “back when we were still at Wellston, the Headmistress was pretty friendly with the Authorities.”

“You mean she was a bootlicker,” Kuyo snorts. “She was, like, barely a five, so she really wanted to stay on their good side.”

Rei sighs, sounding exasperated yet almost fond, then locks eyes with Blyke. “You’re going to be putting a target on your back.”

Blyke shrugs. “Nothing bad will happen to me, at least, since the security at the dorms is really good.” And besides, he’s fairly certain the sheer concentration of high rankers alone would deter normal attackers.

“How much does your Headmaster like the Authorities?” Kuyo asks, frowning. “We don’t want you _anywhere_ near EMBER’s radar.” Blyke’s about to respond with _I don’t know_ when Kassandra speaks up.

“Actually, I doubt that matters.” She pauses. “So far, EMBER seems like an organization made up of high rankers. Why would they incorporate a cheap mall scam into their methodology?”

“In that case then, Blyke can take one, and Kassandra and I will try reverse-tracking the rest,” Rei decides.

Kuyo snorts. “Well, just don’t come crying to me once these people find your cluster of chips to be suspicious.”

His words suddenly make Blyke think about how Rei had gotten the chips in the first place, and before he can even process his thoughts, he’s saying, “Um, I think the people will find out, regardless. We’ve already left a bunch of torn teddy bears, right? So either way, they’re probably gonna start to question their data.”

“Hey, not bad.” Kassandra’s grinning now. “So you’re saying we just have to finish reverse-tracking before they realize they’ve been compromised.”

Blyke nods, self-consciously rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yes, basically. Sorry about being so useless before.”

Kuyo turns to him with an incredulous scowl. “Okay, once again, _stop_ that apologizing thing! And also, if it weren’t for you, this entire thing wouldn’t have happened at all.”

“What he’s trying to elegantly say is,” Kassandra’s smile is faintly amused, “you’ve really helped our cause.”

* * *

After they’ve gone back to retrieve the chips (which were thankfully untouched; Blyke isn’t sure what they would’ve done if the movie had ended early), Rei says, “Join us.”

Blyke goes still. “Are… are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“But I-” Blyke gnaws on his lower lip. “I’m not even a High-Tier.”

“I’ll train you,” Kassandra offers. “There’s been talk of transferring me to my company’s Wellston branch. Kuyo can help, too, since he doesn’t live too far away.”

“No pressure, of course,” Rei quickly adds. “There’s no shame in backing out, and you’re not obligated to do anything. You’ve done more than enough here.”

The day Blyke had faced Lennon, he realized just how _hollow_ everything was, and in comparison, this feels meaningful. _More_ than meaningful. For the first time in a long time, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he can contribute to something that actually matters. But it’s also _so_ overwhelming, and not for the first time, he feels completely in over his head. He doesn’t want to die a meaningless death, but he also doesn’t want to die at all.

“I… could I have some time to think?”

“Of course,” Rei nods. “Let’s stay in touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who may be confused, back when Rei and Blyke first meet (in Chapter 4), Blyke gives Rei a bunch of notes he made about the future, which is why Rei goes into the ability gauger situation already knowing everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://dandyydonut.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jasperiwinkle). I really like meeting new people, so feel free to reach out!


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